Creep
by Hank's Lady
Summary: A strange man follows Audra and she realises the creep who lives on the floor below her is the culprit. But when she gets to know Arthur, she discovers he's not the creep he appears, only a lonely mentally disturbed man desperate for love. F/M Arthur/OC
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"You have to be kidding me," I muttered as I stabbed repeatedly at the call button for the lift. Nothing happened—not even a distant clank could be heard to indicate it might be working. "Piece of crap." I turned to the door leading to the stairwell and pushed through it.

I hurried down the first flight of stairs, turned the corner, and started down the next set. The lift failed at least a couple of times a month, and often didn't get fixed for days. I doubted it would be in use when I got home later, carrying my groceries.

As I trotted down the third flight of stairs, a door above me creaked open and a moment later, banged shut. Some other poor sucker having to use the stairs, no doubt. Soft footsteps began to descend, and I assumed the person was wearing running shoes or some other rubber-soled footwear. I glanced up as I turned the next corner, and glimpsed a hand gripping the bannister two flights above me.

I descended the last few steps and pushed out of the fire door into the damp and gloomy morning. A few minutes later I began the long trudge down the steps to the lower street level which led to the underground. Halfway down, the feeling of being watched made the back of my neck tingle. I paused to glance over my shoulder and spotted a tall figure at the top of the steps, about to start down. A tan jacket with the hood up hid the person's face in shadows and his hands were buried in the pockets. I assumed it was a "he" due to the incredibly long legs clad in dark trousers. Probably another commuter on his way to work, hood up against the weather, just like me. I turned away, tucking my scarf more securely around my neck, and continued down.

Ten minutes later I was on the train, travelling into the centre of the city. Commuters filled every seat and I stood amongst the overflow, gripping one of the overhead rails in an effort to stay on my feet as the train lurched and swayed, causing fellow passengers to stagger and bump against each other, and me. When I climbed down to the platform and made my way into one of the rougher streets of Gotham, the sensation of being watched made me look behind me again. A crowd of hurrying people parted to pass by me as I hovered. Shrugging, I continued on my way to the homeless shelter. My imagination was working overtime. I probably shouldn't have watched that creepy movie on Saturday night with my friend Sophie.

"Hey, Audra! How's it going?" Jason, one of my colleagues, greeted me as I shed my coat and scarf and hung them up.

"Same old, same old. Good weekend?" I asked.

"Yeah, right. I was here yesterday."

"Of course, I forgot you had Sunday's shift."

"What about you? Enjoy the break?" Jason passed me a bag of potatoes to start peeling in preparation for the lunch service we provided.

"It was okay. I watched a stupid scary movie on Saturday. Gave me the creeps and now I keep looking over my shoulder." I laughed at my foolishness.

Jason laughed too. "That'll teach ya. Wait until you have to go home in the dark later. You'll be convinced there are monsters lurking in every shadow."

"Thanks for that." I made a face and pulled out a paring knife to start on the potatoes.

The lunchtime rush started at eleven thirty. I served plates of mashed potatoes with chicken and vegetable stew—veggie stew for those who didn't eat meat, although most weren't fussy so long as they got to eat something. Tammy, another colleague, handed out portions of apple pie, and Jason made endless cups of tea and coffee. At two thirty, when the last person finished eating, Tammy and I started on the washing up while Jason cleaned the tables. This was what I did five days a week, days off rotating so the shelter could stay open every day.

We spent the rest of the afternoon taking bookings for the forty beds on the upper floor. They were offered on a first-come-first-served basis, but towards the end of the day there was often trouble when several people tried to get the last bed. All of us were trained in self-defence, should the need ever arise. Only once had I needed to call on mine so far, but there was always the chance something would go wrong. I kept alert until the final person was signed in and Tammy and I swapped shift with Mark and Toby, who would take over for the night shift. Jason would leave too, an hour later.

I made my way to the grocery store and bought food items for the next few days, then made my way to the station to get the train home. I'd forgotten about that strange feeling of being watched in the morning, but as I made my way up the endless steps to the street where the cheap apartment blocks stood, I felt that prickle on my neck again. I turned my head and shot a quick look behind me but didn't see anyone. Still, darkness had fallen and half the lights at the side of the steps were out, leaving plenty of shadows for a person to lurk unseen.

Hurrying now, I climbed the last dozen steps and marched along the street to the block. The sound of rapid footsteps made my heart pound and my quick breaths leave curls of steam in the cold air above me. Reaching the apartments, I turned completely to look behind me and again, saw no one. I yanked open the door to the building and began trotting up the stairs, pausing at each turn to check again, but no one followed me. I huffed out a laugh, shaking my head at the ease at which I'd been spooked. Moments later I was in my apartment with the door locked and the chain on. Safe. Damned horror movies. Never again. Next time, Sophie could watch something I liked—science fiction, or action thriller.

I took the groceries into the kitchen, took off my coat and scarf again, and began making a meal for one.

The following morning was more of the same. Same routine, same descent down the stairs while the lift sat, broken, in the basement, awaiting an engineer, same trudge down the steps to the street where the station was. Same—I glanced over my shoulder. Same creepy feeling of being watched.

I turned around completely and scanned the damp streets behind me, but all I saw was a man running with a dog on a lead; two women hurrying, arm in arm; an elderly man with a walking stick. None of them were paying any attention to me, simply going about their business.

It wasn't like me to feel nervous. I considered myself to be a strong, confident person. I knew I could take care of myself if I needed to. Nothing had ever happened to me to make me wary, and despite having lived in this cheap, rough area for over a year, I'd never had any trouble.

I continued my journey to the station and waited on the platform. Checking my watch, I realised I was a few minutes early. The back of my neck continued to tingle, and I looked around me at the other waiting passengers—a young man tapping one foot and nodding his head as he listened to music through headphones; a woman with a small child in one arm and a folded pushchair in the other hand; a couple holding hands; a businessman in a suit, reading a newspaper. All of them normal, innocuous-looking people. Then I caught a slight movement from the corner of my eye—a figure lurking almost out of sight behind a pillar.

Rather than turn in that direction and make it obvious I'd noticed, I lowered my head and rolled my eyes sideways. Tall, tan jacket with the hood up, dark trousers. I saw all this in a split second as he shifted from one foot to the other, then ducked completely out of sight. The same man from yesterday, whom I'd seen at the top of the steps. Perhaps the same man who'd descended the apartment stairs behind me.

Frowning, I thought about the other people I knew who lived in that block, and then I realised. At the end of the corridor on Sophie's floor, lived an elderly woman, sick or disabled, and her son who cared for her. I'd seen the son once when we shared the lift. He got out on Sophie's floor and I carried on up to the next one where I lived. Sophie said his name was Arthur. He was a little crazy and could be heard howling with laughter sometimes, she said. On that day I'd seen him, he'd been wearing a tan jacket, although the hood had been down, and dark trousers. He was probably six foot but hadn't seem that tall because I'd been wearing high heels, making me around five ten at the time.

I tried to remember those few moments in the lift. Had we spoken?

"_Hold it, please!" I called out as I ran for the lift. The doors were closing and if I didn't stop it, I'd have to wait at least five minutes for it to lumber up and come down again, or I'd have to climb the stairs. I'd been to an interview, and in my three-inch heels, I didn't feel like climbing the stairs._

_A foot emerged from the lift and stopped the door. Relieved, I pushed the door wider, stepped inside, and punched the button for my floor. "Thanks so much." I looked at the other occupant of the lift—a man, probably mid-thirties, wearing a tan jacket, unfastened, over a dark red sweater and white shirt. His longish brown hair, damp from the rain, curled around his collar, and deep green eyes met mine. His lips twitched in a poor imitation of a smile. _

"_No problem."_

_The lift rumbled upwards, passing two floors before it jerked to a halt. The doors didn't open, so it wasn't someone on the second floor calling it. It had got stuck, again._

"_This building is so awful, isn't it?" I said, just to make conversation. I felt uneasy, alone in the small car with this man. There was no reason to. He didn't appear threatening in anyway, but I'd turned my gaze away from him and I knew from the way I felt that he'd continued to stare at me. _

"_Yes. They should pull it down," he said softly. _

_I risked another glance and met his eyes. I gave him a brief smile, praying I wouldn't be trapped in here with him for hours, but just then, the lift groaned and began to rise again. I lowered my eyes and stared at the dirty floor, my hair standing on end as the man breathed in, long and slow, as if he were smelling me. Jesus Christ._

_The lift stopped again, and the doors slid open. He stepped out. Thank God. "Good-bye." _

_The doors slid closed in his face and I was alone. _

I'd told Sophie about the strange experience when I next saw her, and she told me the little she knew about him. She'd met him a couple of times, and didn't find him threatening, only strange and perhaps mentally disturbed in some way. She knew his mother had been in Arkham for a long time years before.

The train pulled into the station, dragging me out of my thoughts. I climbed on, squeezing into the mostly full carriage, then turned back to help the woman struggling with the folded pushchair. I took it from her so she could better manage the child.

"Thank you so much." She beamed at me from a pale face with too much lipstick.

"No problem." I propped the pushchair in a corner against the side of a seat and looked around me. There was no sign of that strange man—Arthur. Was he still lurking behind the pillar, or was he in another carriage?

Today when the train reached my stop, I climbed down and stood still on the platform, watching the people who joined me. Three cars down, I saw him, hood up, hands in his pockets, scurrying across the platform with several others. He disappeared, not once having looked my way, or so it appeared.

As I walked the rest of the way to the shelter, I couldn't shake the feeling of his presence. That same feeling of being watched that I'd had yesterday, only now I was certain it was him and that he was following me. I paused and surreptitiously glanced behind me several times, then once spun around completely, but I never saw him, except for one small glimpse of movement in a shop doorway that I couldn't say for sure was him.

By the time I reached the shelter, I was stiff and tense, trying to convince myself he hadn't followed me and failing. But if he had, why? Was he a danger to me?

"What's wrong with you?" Jason asked, as I hung up my coat and scarf.

"Nothing, why?"

"You look tense."

"You're too perceptive." I smiled briefly. "It's nothing, really. I thought someone was following me, but it's probably my overactive imagination."

"Still creeped out by that movie?" Jason teased.

"Yeah, that must be it." I got to work with some cleaning, then food preparation. While I was doing so, I made a decision. If I saw him again and thought he was following me, I'd confront him.

As the doors opened at eleven thirty, I took up my position behind the food counter and began serving up portions of gently flavoured chilli with rice. Many of the takers spoke to me—familiar faces, smiling gratefully as they took their food after a night on the streets. Some had found a warm bed the night before, upstairs, but most hadn't. Half an hour later, I switched between serving chilli to the newcomers, as Tammy had called in sick, and peach cobbler to those who were back for the second course.

"Oh, what a shame, I don't like peaches," an elderly woman said with a sigh. "They upset my stomach," she added in a whisper.

"Would you like some of the plain cobbler with sauce?" I offered.

A smile lit up her face. "Is that all right? You're such a dear."

I gave her a plate of cobbler and custard, then turned to the next person—Arthur—and almost dropped my ladle.

"Hello," he said softly. "May I have some chilli, please?"

So polite, and yet a shiver ran down my spine. Why was he here? He wasn't homeless. Had he been lurking outside all morning, waiting to come in? Had he followed me from the station after all?

"Audra?" Jason nudged me, as he passed a mug of tea to someone.

"Yeah. Um, chilli. Of course." I picked up a clean plate, swapped the dessert ladle for the rice one, and scooped a portion onto the plate. "You, um, I haven't seen you here before," I said, as I added chilli to the plate.

"I, um, I, um—" he stuttered. Surprised, I looked up at his face, scarlet, with wide eyes. "My, um, my money ran out. I h-haven't, um, I haven't eaten since Sunday. I'm s-sorry." He put his hands into his pockets and took a step back.

Shit. Perhaps I'd got it wrong. My soft heart got the better of me. "Arthur? Your name is Arthur, right?"

"Yes. How do you know?"

"I live on the floor above you." As if he didn't know that.

"Oh. Yes. Yes, of course." His red face flushed more.

"I'm Audra." I held out the plate to him. "Please, take the food. There's dessert, too, if you want some after. What about your mother?"

"She, um, she has, um, frozen dinners. We have those left."

"You don't eat them?" I queried.

"If I have some, there won't be enough for her until I get my pay-check."

"Okay. Go and find a seat somewhere." I noticed the next customer behind him getting impatient.

"Thank you. Thank you, Audra."

I watched him as much as I could, while continuing to serve the meals. He ate slowly and deliberately, examining each forkful of food before putting it in his mouth, then poking the remainder around his plate. He ate it all, but it took him a long time. By the time he finished, we were packing away the empty food containers and starting on the washing up. Most of the other diners had left.

Arthur came to the counter with his empty plate. Up to the elbows in washing up water, I left Jason to deal with him.

"Thank you," Arthur's soft voice said.

"I'm sorry, there's no dessert left," Jason told him.

"That's okay. I didn't want any."

I glanced over my shoulder, and met green eyes, fixed on me. Arthur flushed and looked away.

"We have to close up now so we can clean," Jason said.

"Sure. Of course. Thank you." He lifted his voice. "Thank you, Audra."

I nodded and carried on washing up. Jason followed Arthur to the door and closed it behind him. "He's new," he commented, as he joined me and started drying the dishes.

"He lives on the floor below me. I think it was him following me this morning. I didn't imagine it after all."

"Seriously?" Jason frowned. "You said you felt creeped out yesterday, too. Was he following you then?"

"I don't know. Maybe. He actually seems pretty harmless. He cares for his sick mother. They ran out of food; that's why he was here for lunch."

"He barely took his eyes off you the whole time he was here. I'd watch your back if I were you. You want me to make sure you get home okay tonight?"

"No. Thanks. You live in the other direction. I'll be fine."

"You sure? He looks like a real freak to me."

"I have my mace in my pocket," I reminded him. "And a knife."

"Yeah, okay, tough girl. Just call if you get any trouble though."

"I will. Thanks."

The rest of the day passed without incident, and when I left to go home, I didn't get the feeling of being followed. I made it to my apartment without that creepy feeling, and the next morning I didn't get it again all day. He didn't come to the shelter for lunch, and I didn't see him of feel him watching me. Perhaps it had just been an isolated incident.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I didn't see anything of Arthur for the next couple of days. He didn't follow me to work on Thursday and Friday was my day off. Saturday, I worked, but I left home earlier than usual so I could call at the bank on the way and sort out an error on my account. They opened from nine until one on Saturdays and Sophie, who worked there, sorted it out for me easily. Then I continued to the shelter.

The weather was worse than usual—pouring rain—and I kept the worst off with an umbrella. It was as I reached the shelter that I got that weird feeling. Unwilling to uncover my head to look around, I ignored it and hurried into the building. Maybe he was out there watching me again, but so far he hadn't done anything to hurt me and when we'd spoken, he seemed shy. It was probably nothing to worry about.

He didn't show up for lunch and when I left in darkness and continuing rain, there was no sense of being watched or followed. I could have imagined the whole thing. I went home, took a shower, and made dinner. When I returned to the living room after washing the dishes, I froze in the doorway, breath catching in my throat. A dripping figure sat on my sofa, head down, hands clenched together between his knees. I cursed the unreliable deadlock on my door and my own forgetfulness in putting the chain on. I'd meant to sort out the lock yesterday and it slipped my mind.

"What are you doing in here?" I cleared my throat, annoyed that my voice had trembled.

Arthur slowly raised his head, his expression one of despair. Droplets of water collected on his forehead from his hair, and rolled down his face.

"You need to leave," I said firmly.

"I-I-I'm—" His attempt to speak was cut off by a burst of hysterical laughter. Eyes wide, he clamped both hands over his mouth to stifle it, but muffled guffaws continued to issue from him, interspersed with gasps and choking.

"I'm-I-I—" He tried again, closed his eyes and shook his head, appearing agonised. After another moment of attempting to stop his crazed laughter, he dug into a pocket of his sodden jacket. He pulled out a laminated card and held it out in my direction.

Tentatively, I crossed the room to take the card, while at the same time I wondered how quickly I could reach my coat where it hung by the door. In the left hand pocket was my can of mace. I took the card and read both sides, learning that he suffered from a condition that caused him to laugh inappropriately. The last few words requested the card be returned. I held it out to him. He took it, and finally his laughter stopped.

"I'm so sorry," he gasped out.

"What are you doing in my apartment?" I spoke softly, hoping not to set him off again. My heart raced, and I couldn't decide whether he was a danger to me.

He rose to his feet in a quick, fluid movement, and I backed away. He held up both hands, shaking his head. "Please. Please don't be afraid. I won't hurt you."

"You've been following me. You broke into my apartment," I accused. "How do you expect me to feel?"

"I didn't break in. Not really. The door was open."

"It was unlocked," I corrected. "You weren't invited."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He waved his hands, continuing to shake his head. "I wanted—I needed—" Another laugh cut off his words and he turned away, stumbling towards the door. Damn my soft heart.

"Arthur, wait." I followed him and touched his arm. He stopped, choking. "You're soaking wet. Take off your jacket. I'll make you some tea, okay?"

The man had followed me for two days, let himself into my home, and I was offering him tea? I could just imagine what Jason would say if I told him.

"Tea?" Arthur queried.

"Do you like tea?"

"Yes."

"Take off your jacket," I repeated. "Sit down. I'll just be a minute." I hurried into the kitchen, and boiled the kettle while keeping one eye on the door. A rack full of knives stood beside the kettle, and I worried less as I made the drink. But Arthur didn't appear and he stayed quiet. I almost hoped he would leave before I returned to him, but when I carried a tray into the living room, he was still there, shivering and rubbing his arms. He wore a sweater over a shirt, and the garments seemed almost as wet as his jacket had been. I noticed he'd placed it on the floor beside his feet.

He looked up, eyes big and sorrowful. "I'm sorry I came in without being invited."

"Never mind. How do you like your tea?"

"Milky and with two sugars, please."

I added milk from the small jug I'd filled, and two lumps of sugar, gave it a vigorous stir, and passed him the mug. He wrapped his hands around it as if to warm them, and sipped carefully. "Thank you."

I put the tray on the coffee table and sat on a chair the other side of it. "You want to tell me why you've been following me?" I asked.

"I, um, I liked you."

"You don't know me. We met once, in the lift," I reminded him. "You didn't even know my name until you came to the shelter."

"You spoke to me in the lift. And smiled." Arthur offered me a fleeting smile, then lowered his gaze. "Everyone ignores me. It's like I'm not even here. But you didn't."

"You could have knocked on my door," I pointed out.

"I was—" He paused and sipped his tea. "I was upset. I didn't think. I'm sorry I scared you. I didn't mean to."

"Okay. So, do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

"Wrong?" His brow wrinkled.

"You said you were upset."

"My, um, my mother died two days ago. She had a stroke."

"Oh, Arthur." Instantly, my wariness dissolved and I felt only sorrow. He had no one now, and had turned to the one person who smiled at him once, months ago. "I'm so sorry."

He shrugged, then. "That's not why I'm upset. Today I went to the hospital. Arkham, I mean, not the General where she was taken. My mother was a patient at Arkham years ago. I found out—" He started to laugh, quickly placed the mug on the table, and covered his mouth with both hands.

I realised then that the involuntary laughter seemed to be a response to distress. I waited it out, and eventually, it subsided into gasps. He lowered his hands and picked up his mug again, then drank most of the tea before speaking. "I found out she wasn't my mother. I was adopted. When I was a child, her boyfriend abused me. She did nothing to stop it. Most of the time I was chained to a radiator. One day he beat me so badly I ended up like this. I had a brain injury."

Horrified, I got up and hovered, wanting to go to him and offer something—squeeze his hand, or his shoulder—but then I noticed how much he was shivering, and instead I grabbed the blanket from the other chair—the one I wrapped myself in when I was watching TV in the evenings. "Arthur, you're soaking wet. You're gonna catch your death. Take off your sweater," I said.

"Take it off?" He looked up at me in confusion.

"It's wet. You need to get dry and warm."

"Oh." Numbly, he pulled the sweater over his head. "My shirt is wet too."

"Take it off," I told him without hesitation.

Slowly, with shaking hands, he unfastened the buttons, revealing the skinniest torso I'd ever seen on a living person. He was obviously malnourished, pale skin stretched tight over bony shoulders, collar bones jutting, every rib visible, stomach concave. Biting off any comment, I draped the blanket around his shoulders, then switched on the electric fire. I sat down again, beside him rather than opposite.

"You've had an awful shock," I said.

"Yes. I can't remember any of what happened to me. It was like reading about somebody else. I cared for her for ten years, you know. She's not even my mother. She let him do all that stuff to me." He choked slightly, and I expected another burst of laughter, but instead, he covered his face with both hands and began to sob.

"Arthur." I touched his shoulder. He sobbed harder, and I slid my arm around him. "Shh, it's okay. It's all right," I murmured.

He buried his face in his hands and I rubbed his back. How could I have been nervous of him, I wondered? He was harmless. Hurt, lonely, and suffering the effects of a head injury gained in childhood. God only knew what the so-called mother's boyfriend had done to him. Had he been sexually abused, as well as beaten?

Eventually, Arthur quieted and straightened up. I took my hand off him and rested it in my lap. "I'm sorry about that." He wiped his face with one hand and snuffled.

"It's all right." I passed him a box of tissues, then got up and collected the wet garments he'd discarded. I hung them on the drying rack near the heater, then went to my room to find something he could wear. I had a big baggy sweatshirt with a fleece lining that would easily fit him. I dug it out and took it to him along with a towel. "Why don't you put this on? It's warm and dry. Use the towel for your hair."

He nodded and dried his hair first, squeezing the wet strands in the towel and scrubbing his scalp, then combing with his fingers. He shrugged off the blanket, pulled on the sweatshirt, then tugged the blanket around himself again. "Thank you."

"Have you eaten today?" I asked.

"No."

"Would you like something? I have leftovers from dinner I can heat up."

"Please, don't go to any trouble."

"It's no trouble. I won't be long." I returned to the kitchen, put the remains of the mild curry and rice on a plate, and slid it into the microwave. Five minutes later, I handed Arthur a tray with the plate and a fork on it. "It's chicken curry. Not very spicy," I said.

"That's okay. I don't like too much spice." He smiled and picked up the fork. "I really appreciate this. You're so kind. I don't deserve it."

"Everyone deserves a little kindness." I sat in silence while he ate. It wasn't a large portion of food, but it still took him a long time to eat. I wondered how often he went without food. His half-starved appearance indicated he did it a lot. When he finally finished, I took the plate from him and put it on the table, then checked his clothes. My heater kicked out a lot of heat, and his shirt was already dry. The sweater and jacket were still wet but not dripping.

"I'll get out of your way." Arthur scrambled to his feet and grabbed his clothes. "I'm sorry, again, that I bothered you. Please don't be angry."

"I'm not angry."

"Then don't be scared. I'm no threat to you. I wouldn't hurt one hair on your head."

"I must admit I was a little worried when I realised you were following me."

"I'm sorry. I—" He looked down at himself and plucked at his sleeve. "I'm still wearing your sweater."

"It's fine, don't worry about it. You can return it another time. Keep it for now, okay?"

"Yes. Thank you." He fidgeted, awkward, and giggled a little. "I'll be going now. You know, you should put the chain on your door if the lock's broken."

"Yes, I know." I laughed, relieved that this encounter hadn't turned out to be what I expected. "Take care, Arthur."

I put the chain on the door after he left, then found a screwdriver and fiddled with the lock until it clicked back into place. I couldn't stop thinking about Arthur. That poor man—how he must have suffered, treated like that as a child, brought up God knew where while his mother was in the asylum, then caring for her, not knowing what had happened to him. All his life he'd had to deal with the involuntary laughter. I imagined people would point and snigger; call him a freak. People were cruel. I'd seen plenty of it in my job. Now he was alone. Obviously, he didn't even have a friend, if he'd come to me in his time of despair.

I worked Sunday, but Monday and Tuesday were my days off. I spent Sunday afternoon with Sophie watching movies—not scary ones—and told her I'd met Arthur.

"His mother died," I said. "He was pretty upset."

"Penny died? I know paramedics came, but I thought maybe she was just sick—sicker."

"She had a stroke."

"How is it you know this?"

"He came to the shelter for a meal. Then he turned up at my apartment the other day. I don't think he has anyone now his mother's gone. He wanted someone to talk to, I guess. A friendly face."

"You should be careful," Sophie warned. "He's a real creep."

"I think he's just lonely."

"He's a nut-job." She scrunched up her face. "I'd be surprised if he hasn't done a stretch in Arkham, too."

"He had a head injury as a child. He can't help the laughing."

"I still think he's a freak."

I didn't tell her Arthur had let himself into my apartment. I was almost certain he was harmless now I knew a little about him, but I was still glad I'd fixed the lock on my door.

On Monday morning I went to the grocery store. In the afternoon I went to the movies, and picked up Chinese food on my way home. The lift was finally back in action and it lumbered up to my floor, clanking and groaning as usual. As I approached my door, the sight of a paper grocery bag propped against it surprised me. I put down my bag of food and picked it up. Inside was my sweater, freshly laundered and smelling of fabric softener, and a bouquet of deep pink roses. I loved roses, although pink wasn't my favourite colour. But I knew the meaning of them as gifts, and dark pink said "thank you."

I grinned as I opened my door and took the two bags inside. I put the roses in a vase and stood it on my coffee table, before I ate my meal. Then I headed down to Arthur's apartment to thank him for the flowers.

I rang the bell twice, but didn't hear any sound from within, other than a faint noise that might have been a television show. Assuming the bell didn't work, I knocked instead. A minute later, the deadlock clicked and the door opened a few inches, its chain visible. Arthur peered through the gap.

"Hey, Arthur."

"Hey!" He closed the door again, took the chain off, and opened it wide. He was wearing a blue sweater with the sleeves pushed up and casual grey pants. His feet were bare. I managed to take in all of this before I met his eyes.

"I wanted to say thank you for the roses."

"Oh, you don't need to thank me. That was my job." He flushed and quickly broke the eye contact. He seemed shy and embarrassed, although his mouth pulled up at the corners in a small smile.

"Well, thank you anyway. How are you?"

"I'm, you know, so-so." He shrugged. "I've been getting rid of my mother's—Penny's things. She didn't have much. At least I get to sleep in a bed now."

"Didn't you have a bed before?"

"No, there's only one bedroom. I slept on the couch. Would you, um, would you like to come in for a cup of tea?"

I hesitated, wondering if I should take him up on the offer. I no longer had any fears about him, and he had plenty of good qualities—polite, gentle, pleasant looking. He needed a friend. So did I—I only had Sophie, and my workmates.

"Of course you don't." He shook his head, his expression slipping into one of sadness. "Why would you? I've acted like a crazy person."

"I didn't say no," I pointed out.

"You didn't say yes." He took a step back so he could close the door. He almost seemed to shrink, shoulders slumped and chin sinking towards his chest.

"Do you have coffee?" I shot him a smile. "I'm not much of a tea-drinker."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Arthur showed me into the small living room—a very similar arrangement to mine, except there was less space. The sofa and a large coffee table took up a good portion of the available room, and a television set perched on top of a video recorder on a cupboard opposite. A stack of video tapes beside it all had Murray Franklin with various dates written on the labels.

I took a seat in one of the armchairs at the end of the room and listened to Arthur moving around the kitchen, bumping and dropping things, clattering around and quietly cursing. I couldn't help smiling. He was nervous—I doubted anyone had ever come in for a cup of coffee.

Eventually, he appeared with a small tray, looking flustered and awkward. A jug of milk and a bowl of sugar accompanied the two large mugs of coffee, and he placed the tray on the end of the table where I could reach it.

"Would you like milk and sugar?" he offered.

"Just milk, please."

"Ah. Sweet enough." He let out a loud laugh but stopped abruptly. He added milk to one of the mugs and passed it to me, then made his own with two sugars. His mug, I noticed, had Murray Franklin's logo on it.

"You watch Murray?" I asked. I realised I knew nothing about him except the brief history that explained the way he was.

"Yes, do you?"

"Sometimes."

He sat down at the end of the sofa nearest me, and immediately became animated. "I like _That's Life._ And his talk show. I would love to be on the show one day, but I don't suppose that will ever happen. I don't think I'm good enough."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a party clown, but I'm going to be a stand-up comedian. At least I hope to be. I've been practising. I'm going to perform at Pogo's, the comedy club, in a couple of weeks. You could come. If you wanted to."

"I could do, I guess." This surprised me. I couldn't imagine someone so shy and uncomfortable performing on a stage, but apparently this was his thing. "Can you tell me a joke?"

"Um—" He sipped his coffee, then put the mug down and ran his hand through his hair. He snatched up a notebook from the table and flicked through it. "Here's one. My therapist told me that a great way to let go of your anger is to write letters to people you hate and then burn them. I did that and I feel much better, but what I want to know is, do I keep the letters?"

I snorted, despite the nature of the joke. Sick humour amused me, but I couldn't help wondering if the general public would appreciate it.

Arthur put the book down. "I have a therapist, but she wouldn't tell me to write letters and burn people. She hardly says anything other than 'How was work today? Are you having any negative thoughts?' All I have are negative thoughts." He sighed and picked up his mug again. "I'm sorry. You don't want to hear about that."

"I do, if you want to talk about it."

Arthur drank his coffee slowly, staring at the floor and not speaking. I guessed he was considering whether to talk about his troubles, and I stayed silent.

"I have to take a lot of medication," he said eventually. "My mother—Penny—used to call me Happy instead of Arthur. She always told me to put on a happy face, and that I was intended to bring joy and laughter to the world. I put on a happy face, but I'm not happy. I've never been happy for one day in my entire life."

"You don't have to put on a happy face with me. You can just be yourself." My heart ached for him. I finished my coffee and put the mug down. "Do you take anti-depressants?"

"Yes. Several. And some other stuff. Anti-psychotics. I'm not a danger to you." He looked up suddenly and met my eyes. "I'm not a danger to anyone. Only myself."

"Have you hurt yourself before, Arthur?" I asked softly.

"Once or twice." He shrugged. "Not for a long time, though. It didn't help. I still felt bad. Nothing helps. I feel bad all the time."

"I'm sorry." I wished I could help in some way, but I didn't have any training in psychiatry. All I knew was that when I started to wallow in self-pity, which I did on occasion, I got mad with myself, gave myself a mental kick up the arse, and got on with things. A lot of people suffered more than me and couldn't do that. The only thing I could do was offer him friendship. Maybe having a friend to spend time with would help in some small way.

"We should talk about you." Arthur straightened up and forced a smile onto his lips. "I'm sure you're much more interesting that I am."

"I'm not so sure about that." I smiled back. "I've lived here nearly a year. You know where I work. I usually work day shifts and serve the lunches. Sometimes I get the evening shift, but not often. They don't like women working there in the evenings. It can be a rough place. Not that I can't take care of myself, but I'd rather not have to."

"Have you always done that type of work?"

"No, actually. I used to work in an office, doing the paperwork for social housing, arranging places for people, stuff like that. I, um, I was in a relationship with the man who ran the office. It didn't work out." I cleared my throat. "So I had to leave my job and my home. I applied for a few other office jobs, but then I decided to do something different—something more helpful than pushing a pen."

"Why did you have to leave your job? Did he fire you?"

"What? No. I just wanted to forget about him."

"Did he hurt you?" Arthur's thick brows drew together in a scowl.

"Not physically. He gambled. We had a joint bank account and he gambled away all our money. He ran up a lot of credit card debts, too. We were evicted from our house for not paying the rent. I didn't even know he wasn't paying it. So, this—" I gestured towards the door, indicating the building, "—is all I can afford for now."

"He was an idiot." Arthur's scowl deepened. "He had someone wonderful and he threw you away."

"I'm not sure I'm all that wonderful." I smiled wryly. "I have my bad points, just like anybody else."

"I can't imagine that. If you were mine, I'd treat you like a princess. I wouldn't ever hurt you or do anything to make you want to leave." Suddenly, he began to laugh—the wild, hysterical laughter that came upon him when he was upset or nervous. When it subsided into gasping, he choked out a few more words. "I'm sorry. Forget I said that. Stupid. You wouldn't want me. Nobody would."

"I would think anyone would be lucky to have you," I murmured. "You seem like a sweet guy, Arthur."

"Oh, no. Not really." He shook his head and reddened.

He barely spoke for the rest of the time it took me to finish my coffee. I asked him questions about his job as a party clown, and whether he had any other interests, but he answered in monosyllables, knees bouncing with anxiety, occasional laughs bursting from him.

"Thank you for the coffee." I got up.

"Oh! You're leaving?" He stood up, crest-fallen, shaking his head. "I'm not very good company."

"It's not that at all. I have some things I need to do. We could do this again sometime, if you want to."

"Really? I'd like that."

"You can knock on my door, you know," I added. "If you want a friend to talk to."

"Rather than let myself in. Of course." He barked with laughter, then clamped a hand over his mouth.

I touched his arm. "Stop worrying about that. It doesn't matter. I fixed the lock, by the way. One of the many things that need fixing around here."

He nodded. "That's good."

"If you run short of food again, you can come to the shelter," I reminded him, as I made my way to the door.

"Thank you. I should be all right."

I stepped out into the corridor and he hovered in the doorway, twisting his hands together.

"I'll see you soon, Arthur." I gave him a warm smile, then went to the lift. For once, it was waiting, and the doors opened immediately. He stayed there, watching, until the doors closed with me inside.

I thought about him a lot that night. I still didn't know him very well, but the more I saw, the more I liked. He had a lot of problems and I filled up with sorrow when I remembered what he'd told me about his childhood and the cause of his mental health issues, and I felt sad for how unhappy he was now, and how lonely. But somewhere amongst those feelings of pity, there was something else that I tried to squash down.

If I'd met Arthur in any other circumstances—in a bar, in the park, at work—I'd have seen him as an attractive man I could imagine myself dating. He was good-looking, with his soft brown wavy hair and green eyes. I liked tall men, and he was certainly that, although he was much too thin. He was polite and gentle, and he could make me laugh. On the rare occasions he smiled genuinely, it lit up his whole face and his eyes sparkled.

I doubted Arthur had ever dated anyone. Would he even be capable of having a relationship with a woman? Or a man, if that were his thing? I guessed he liked women, simply from the way he'd said, "if you were mine," but that might not have meant anything. He bought me flowers, but they were "thank you" flowers. Something told me he knew the colour meant that, or he'd looked it up.

I'd been alone a long time—a long time for me, anyway. But did I really want to think along those lines? If Arthur was even able to date, did I want such a vast amount of baggage in my life?

"Damn it, woman, you've only had a couple of conversations with him!" I scoffed. "You don't know anything about him. And now you sound as nutty as him, talking to yourself." I decided to think of him as a budding friend and put anything else out of my mind.

I didn't see Arthur for almost a week after that. He didn't follow me, at least not that I was aware of, and he didn't knock on my door. As I travelled home from work on the train one day—later than usual as I'd needed to help with dinner preparations—I wondered if I should call at Arthur's apartment and check if he was okay. He might want to talk to me but be too shy to do anything about it.

I glanced around the almost-empty train carriage as it pulled into a station. One other woman sat at the far end to the left, and three young men, clearly drunk, staggered up the steps and sat opposite me. One was eating a carton of French fries. I lowered my gaze and ignored them.

"Hey! Miss! Want a French fry?"

I glanced up again and shook my head. "No, thank you."

"They're really good!"

"I'm sure."

"Maybe she wants something else," one of his companions said with a giggle.

"Yeah, maybe she wants some of this." The third man grabbed his crotch.

I slid my hand into my coat pocket, thumbed the cap off my can of mace, and gripped it firmly. I hated these rich people, full of entitlement, convinced they could behave however they wanted and get away with it.

The train stopped again to let on another passenger, and the other woman left, but I didn't take any notice. I kept my lowered eyes lifted just enough to watch what the three young men were doing.

"You're not very friendly, are you?" the one with the French fries said, and flicked a fry at me. It bounced off the front of my coat and fell to the floor.

One of the others pulled a hip flask out of his pocket and held it out to me. "Have a drink. Might loosen you up. Then we can all have a go."

I scowled and ignored them. At the other end of the carriage, a screech of hysterical laughter drew my attention. A quick glance left, and my gaze lit on a clown—someone dressed as a clown—with a painted face and a wig of bright green hair. The laughter continued and he rocked back and forth in his seat. Arthur.

The laughter drew the attention of the three guys away from me, and one got to his feet. "Hey! What's so fucking funny?" He began to walk down the carriage towards Arthur, and his two companions followed.

Arthur's face, even at that distance and painted with a fake red smile, took on an expression of fear, but his laughter continued. One of the young men began to sing _Send in the Clowns_, as he danced and swung himself around one of the poles near Arthur. One of the others sat beside Arthur and pulled off his wig.

"Shit," I muttered. I pulled the can of mace free of my pocket and stood up.

Arthur fumbled with a bag he had beside him, still laughing wildly. One of the men snatched the bag and threw it to his companion. Arthur lurched up to try to grab it, but the man who had been sitting beside him flung his arms around Arthur, pinning his arms to his sides. Still laughing, Arthur kicked out at the man in front of him.

"Leave him alone!" I shouted as I charged down the carriage.

The man who had been kicked at threw a punch. The one holding Arthur let go, and Arthur fell to the ground, then curled himself up to protect his head and privates as two of the men began to kick him.

"You fucking bastards!" I cried.

"Ah, look. Little miss miserable has come to the rescue." It was the last thing he said. A moment later he bent double, screaming, rubbing his eyes.

"Who's next?" I turned on the second man—the one about to grab me—and sprayed him in the face. Screeching and coughing, he fell back.

"You fucking bitch!"

The third man faced me, then thought twice about it, and helped one of his companions as the train slowed to a stop and the doors opened. In seconds, the three of them were gone. No one else entered the carriage. I put the mace back in my pocket and dropped to my knees.

"Arthur!"

"Audra?" He uncurled himself and lifted his head. His nose was bleeding, his clown makeup smeared, his eyes wide and scared.

"Yes, it's me. Come on, let's get you up." I gripped his hand and helped him sit up. He winced and groaned. "Shit, how badly are you hurt?"

"Just bruised, I think."

"Let me see. If you have a broken rib, you shouldn't move. It could puncture a lung."

"It's usually me who's the pessimist." He laughed softly, but it stopped after a second and tears spilled down his cheeks.

"Oh, Arthur." I touched his face, then turned my attention to his clothes. "We have a few minutes before our stop. Let me check you, okay? I'm trained in first aid."

"Okay." He leaned back against the seat, not trying to stop the flow of tears as they dripped onto the collar of his shirt, turning the white fabric purple as they mixed with the blue paint around his eyes and the big red smile.

I unfastened his yellow waistcoat, then the shirt, and carefully felt my way around his ribcage. They were so prominent, I probably would have seen a break as well as felt it, but there seemed to be no damage other than bruising, as he said. His pale skin was already livid in places.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"No."

"You think you can get up?"

"Yes."

I helped him and slowly he rose to his feet, just as the train reached our stop. He fastened his shirt, picked up his bag, and we descended slowly to the platform. "What happened to your jacket?"

"I don't know. Maybe they took it."

I hadn't seen the checked jacket he'd been wearing when I helped him. I tucked my hand through his arm and walked slowly at his side as me made our way to the long flight of steps up to our street.

"You think you can manage these? We can get a cab and drive around the other way," I suggested.

"I'll be all right." He lifted his free hand to wipe his wet face. The palm came away smeared with paint, and his red smile twisted into a grotesque grimace where it had begun to dissolve and spread across his cheeks.

"I'm so sorry this happened. Those guys were arseholes."

"It's not the first time." He hung his head, gasping as he struggled up each step. "I'm glad you were there. What did you do to them?"

"I have a can of mace in my pocket."

"Shame it wasn't a gun."

"Well, I do have a knife, should the need arise."

"You know how to take care of yourself."

"Yes. We all have to, where I work. You never know. Sometimes people come in and they're drugged up or drunk. I've only ever had one situation that went bad, but we have to be prepared."

"You must think I'm pathetic," Arthur said suddenly. "Anyone else would have done something to fight back."

"There were three of them," I pointed out. "You tried to kick them. Besides, at least half of the population wouldn't know how to fight back. In a situation like that, it's easy to freeze; to hope it stops, or to go numb with fear. Don't beat yourself up over it."

Arthur squawked with laughter. "Don't beat myself up. No, I'll leave that to them."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Arthur's hand shook as he tried to get his key in the lock. He paused to wipe the back of his hand under his nose, smearing the blood that still oozed from one of his nostrils. Suddenly, he smashed his forehead into the door with a loud thud, then leaned against it.

"Don't, please. Let me. Give me the key." I took it from his hand and jammed it into the lock. As I swung the door open and let Arthur through first, I glanced back and spotted Sophie a few doors down, watching with an appalled expression on her face.

"What are you doing?" she mouthed, eyes wide.

I shook my head and replied silently, "Talk to you later." Then I followed Arthur inside and closed the door.

Arthur went straight into the bathroom, then I heard water running. He stayed there a long time and I waited for five minutes before going to the closed door. "Are you okay, Arthur? You need any help?"

The door opened. He had removed his waistcoat and shirt and cleaned his face. "I'm all right. I'm just cold now. Give me a minute."

I retreated into the living room while he disappeared into his bedroom. He returned wearing a sweater and a different pair of trousers. He walked stiffly, clutching his side, and lowered himself carefully onto the sofa. "I'm sorry, I didn't offer to make you a coffee." He sighed.

"Don't be silly, I'll make it." I got up quickly. "Do you want one? Or tea?"

"Either. Are you sure it's not too much trouble? Surely you want to get home and have your dinner."

"I'll make us both dinner. How about that? I'll get some drinks first, then I'll run upstairs and get the things I was going to cook tonight. There's enough for two."

"You don't have to do that."

"I want to." I rested my hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "I'm your friend, Arthur. You can let me help you."

He nodded. "Thank you."

I went to the kitchen and made coffee, remembering to add two sugars to his and making it in the Murray Franklin mug. When I returned to the living room, I sat beside him on the sofa. He took the drink and sipped it.

"You were on your way home from work?" I asked. Apparently, he had been, since he had been dressed as a clown.

"Yes, I had a children's party this afternoon. You were late, too."

"I had to help prepare dinner. They were short-staffed. I'm glad I was late, or I wouldn't have been there to help you."

"I'm glad you were late, too." Arthur's lips twitched, but he didn't manage a smile.

I drank my coffee, then headed back to my apartment to fetch items for dinner. I'd planned to make bacon and mushroom pasta and had enough ingredients to feed four people. I decided to make the extra, so I could leave some for Arthur to have the next day.

Five minutes later I was back in his kitchen making myself at home, with pasta simmering, and a pan of sauce bubbling on his stove. Arthur leaned against the counter and watched.

"Do you always cook like this?" he asked.

"Usually, unless I really can't be bothered. I get takeaway food sometimes."

"I've never had takeaway."

"I like Chinese," I told him. "I had some that day you got me the roses."

Arthur grinned suddenly. "If you carry on like this, I'll be buying you deep pink roses every week."

"Did you know the meaning of the colours, or did you look them up?"

"I went to a florist shop and asked what flowers I should buy to say thank you. The lady told me about the different colours of roses. Maybe I could get yellow ones someday. For friendship."

"That's sweet, Arthur, but you don't need to buy me things. I'm your friend anyway." I turned back to stir the sauce, smiling to myself as I imagined him buying me red roses one day—for romance. I doubted that would ever happen and reprimanded myself for even thinking it. He needed a friend, nothing else.

Fifteen minutes later, we took plates of food on trays into the living room. Arthur switched on the television and we watched the news while we ate. The local news was depressing as usual: the state of the city, the number of people homeless and without jobs, housing prices, the recent weeks of endless foul weather, and an attack on a young woman outside a nightclub.

"It's nothing but bad news. I don't know why I watch it." Arthur turned off the set and continued picking at his dinner. "This is really good."

"Are you sure?" I teased. "You're not eating much."

"I often don't eat much. Or I just eat slowly."

"You're too thin, Arthur," I said gently. "You should try to eat more."

"I know. It's a bad habit. I was half-starved as a kid. Then when I started taking care of my—Penny, I was so busy making meals for her and doing everything else, I forgot about myself."

"You can put yourself first now. You're important. Don't forget that."

He flushed and shoved a forkful of food into his mouth. He eventually finished all the food on his plate, but I imagined it must be getting cold. At least he ate it. He took my tray away to the kitchen and I got up.

"I should be going now. There's enough of the pasta left for you to have tomorrow. You can heat it up in the microwave."

"Okay, I will. Thank you." He smiled shyly and followed me to the door. "Thank you for today."

"You're welcome." I slipped out and went to call on Sophie.

The moment I was through her door, she rounded on me. "What on earth were you doing with that creep?"

"He got attacked on the train by three drunken idiots. I helped him."

"You could have got hurt yourself. You didn't, did you?" Sophie peered at me as if expecting to see a black eye or some other obvious sign of attack.

I laughed. "I'm fine. They bothered me first. Arthur started laughing—"

"At you?"

"No, he was nervous about the way they were behaving. He can't help it. He laughs in bad situations. But it drew their attention away from me. They started beating him up, so I went after them with my mace. Two of them will be needing eyewash tonight." I smiled smugly. "Serve the bastards right."

"But you went to Arthur's apartment," Sophie went on. "Weren't you worried he might do something?"

"What's he gonna do? He was hurt and upset. He just needed a friend. I know you think he's a freak, but he's really not. He's just lonely. The way he is—he had a head injury when he was a kid. He can't help it."

"I still think you should watch your back. You never know with people with mental problems. It might be hereditary. Penny spent years in Arkham."

"Penny wasn't his mother. She adopted him," I told her. "He could have been a normal kid if he hadn't been abused the way he was."

"You like him," Sophie said with a sudden smile.

"He's a sweet guy."

She smiled wider. "You _like_ him."

"Bullshit." I laughed and hoped I wasn't blushing.

"You do! Oh my God, Audra! Can someone like that even have a relationship?"

"I have no idea and I'm not intending to find out. I just think he's attractive, that's all. So there, I admit it. It doesn't mean anything."

"I'll remind you of that when you go out on a date with him."

"Shut up, Sophie. Anyway, you changed your tune pretty quick. A minute ago, you said he was a creep and that I should watch my back."

"I also know you're a pretty good judge of character. So, I guess if you think he's a sweet guy, he can't be that bad, right?"

I stayed chatting to Sophie for an hour before I made my way back to my own apartment. Once again, when I went to bed, I lay awake for some time thinking about Arthur. I'd hated seeing him treated so badly by those drunken arseholes, and the worst thing was that he said it wasn't the first time it had happened. It was terrible that he was bullied and attacked because people thought he was a freak when he laughed. I decided I would call on him the next evening to check he was okay and ignored the fleeting thought that I might be thinking up an excuse to see him.

After work the next day, I got out of the lift on Arthur's floor and went to his door, but after I knocked three times and he didn't answer, I guessed he wasn't back yet from his work. I went home and had dinner, then manged to fall asleep in front of the television, so it was too late to go back and see if he was home.

I had a later shift the next day. It was Friday and afterwards, I had the whole weekend off to look forward to. I'd had a couple of weekends free in the past month, which was unusual. Fridays and Saturdays were always extra busy at the shelter.

I arrived after lunch in time to help with the afternoon bookings for the beds, then began the dinner preparations. Jason and I served the rice dish we made to the many hungry people who came through the door and followed it up with treacle sponge pudding. By the time I left, it was after nine o'clock and I had to walk through the dark streets to the station.

The moment I stepped out of the building, I got the feeling I was being watched. I paused and looked around, quickly spotting an older guy huddled in a doorway. He was one of the many we'd fed that evening. I hurried on, assuming he'd stared at me as I passed, but the feeling didn't go away and I began to wonder if it was Arthur. Why would he follow me now, when I'd made it clear I was his friend, and that he could knock on my door when he wanted?

I halted and spun around quickly but no one was in sight, although I caught a slight movement from the corner of my eye. Slightly exasperated, I turned in that direction and walked towards the shadows of a dumpster.

"Arthur? Is that you?"

A dark figure moved towards me, but their lack of height told me it wasn't Arthur.

"I can be Arthur if you want me to be," a deep voice said, then chuckled.

"Fuck off." I hurried back across the street and almost ran into Arthur.

"I'm here."

"What are you doing? You don't need to follow me, Arthur." I sighed.

"I wasn't. Not really. I finished work a while ago. I wasn't far away, and I thought I'd see if you were still here. You were busy washing up, so I waited for you to finish. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You could have come in and waited, you know."

"I wasn't sure I'd be welcome. I wanted to ask you something, but now it seems like a stupid idea."

"I'm sure it's not. But let's get moving. I don't want to stand around here and tempt fate." I started to walk, and Arthur fell into step beside me. "What did you want to ask me?"

"You know I said I was going to do stand-up at Pogo's? You said you might come and see me, but I'll understand if you don't want to."

"I'd like to," I said at once. "When is it?"

"Tomorrow night."

"Sure, I'll come. I have the whole weekend off. What time?"

"Um, eight o'clock. I got an early slot. It's my first one. They didn't want me to go on when it's busy in case I'm useless." He laughed loudly. "I probably am. But it will help if you're there. Maybe we could—" He shook his head. "No."

"Maybe we could what?" I prompted.

"Get a coffee or something after. I mean, if you have nothing better to do. I didn't mean, like a date. I just meant—" He broke off, laughing more hysterically.

"Arthur, don't get upset." I tucked my hand through his arm and walked closer to his side. His laughing subsided into choking gasps. "I'd love to have coffee after. There's a nice diner near Pogo's. We could go there."

"I might embarrass you." He rubbed a hand over his face. "What if something happens and I get like—well, like this?"

"Don't worry about it. It won't bother me. The only thing that will bother me is if you're upset, so don't be."

"I'll try not to be. You're too nice."

We made it home without incident. The streets were busy with people on their way out, or on their way from one venue to another, and there were several travellers on the train, but nobody gave us a second glance. I wondered if they thought we were a couple and the thought made me smile. What the hell. I couldn't help thinking about him like that. The moment he tried to ask me to go for coffee in his embarrassed way, I felt like I was being asked on a date. To hell with his baggage. I liked him. If it was a date, then I meant to enjoy every minute of it, and if it wasn't, at least I would enjoy an evening with a sweet friend.

I spent most of Saturday catching up on tasks I'd put aside during the week—housework, grocery shopping, replacing lightbulbs that had blown, fixing a wobbly shelf. I ate a light dinner, then took a bath and looked for something to wear for my not-a-date with Arthur.

I didn't have much, I realised. I had plenty of clothes, but not suitable ones. Most things were either what I wore for work, casual jeans and sweaters, or slutty outfits I still had from when I was with _him._ Still, I supposed I didn't need to go overboard and dress up. I was watching Arthur in the comedy club and going to a diner for coffee. I looked through my wardrobe again and took out a dark orange sweater and a black and white kilt. They were warm and smart-casual and would suit what we planned to do. I added a pair of thick black tights and long boots, then stood in front of the bathroom mirror, wondering what to do about my face.

I didn't wear much makeup—I didn't like the feel of it on my skin. I'd look fake if I wore it now. I added an orangey-brown lipstick and left it at that. Peering closely at my hair under the harsh bathroom light, I was pleased I didn't have even one grey hair yet. I was only twenty-eight, but many people my age were already greying from the stress in their lives. My dark brown hair was rich and glossy, hanging sleek and straight to just past my shoulders. I brushed it out and left it loose. That would do.

I pulled on my winter coat and five minutes later, I knocked on Arthur's door. He opened it immediately, as if he'd been standing at the other side of it waiting for me. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, and the trousers and waistcoat of a brown suit. His wide eyes held a hint of fear, and he fiddled nervously with his shirt cuffs.

"Hello, Audra."

"Hey. How are you?"

"Nervous."

"Of performing?"

"Yes. What if they hate me?"

"What if they don't? I think you're funny, Arthur. I'm sure others will, too."

He stepped back and grabbed a jacket and his notebook, then joined me and locked the door. "They might not," he went on. "Especially if I, you know, laugh. They'll all think I'm a freak."

"Try not to worry about it. Think about how good it will be if they all applaud you. Then we'll go for coffee and maybe some cake too, to celebrate."

"I wish I had your confidence." He ran his hand over his hair and paused to put on his jacket. "Do I look all right?"

"You look nice, Arthur. Smart."

"Okay. Good. You look nice, too."

"You can only see my coat." I laughed and unbuttoned it to show him the sweater and kilt.

"That's pretty. You look very pretty, Audra." He flushed scarlet and looked away. "I suppose we'd better go."

As we travelled into the city on the train, Arthur grew progressively more nervous, fidgeting, plucking at his clothes, checking his notebook to make sure he hadn't forgotten one of his best jokes, and laughing at intervals. By the time we reached our stop and began to walk to the club, he'd convinced himself he would fail and that the best thing to do would be to cancel his slot.

I caught his hand in mine and squeezed it as we walked. "You'll be okay, Arthur. This is what you really want. You've worked hard for it. And I'll be there, whatever happens."

He took a deep breath as Pogo's came into view. "Okay," he said eventually. "I'm ready."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Once inside the club, Arthur was shown to the backstage area. I wasn't allowed to go with him and was directed to find a seat out front. The club was filled with small tables, each with two chairs and a small lamp. I found an empty one to the side and sat down facing the stage. A moment later, a waitress came to me and asked if I wanted a drink.

"Just a lemonade, please," I requested. The drink arrived in minutes and I paid with a note.

The compere appeared on the stage and announced the next performer—not Arthur. I checked my watch which showed me it was twenty minutes before eight. Arthur would be on next. I sipped my drink and tried not to bite my nails as I imagined him backstage, nervous, alone, probably working himself up into a panic as he thought about taking the stage for the first time. I hoped and prayed he would be okay and that he could do it. He'd be devastated if he failed.

The current comedian wasn't that good. He drew a few chuckles and claps from the half-full club, but his spirits seemed to sink halfway through his performance, and he left the stage with his head down. The compere came back on a moment later.

"Next we have another newcomer; a local party clown who says his life is a comedy, and that he was put on earth to bring joy and laughter to the world." The compere snorted slightly. "Please welcome Arthur Fleck."

I clapped in welcome, as did a handful of other people. Then silence fell as Arthur walked onto the stage. He'd taken off his jacket, and he clutched his rolled-up notebook in one hand. He looked terrified as he stepped into the spotlight behind the microphone. I smiled up at him, but I doubted he'd be able to see me in the darkened club.

"Come on, Arthur, you can do this," I whispered.

"Good evening. It's a p-pleasure to be here," Arthur managed to say. "Then he began to laugh. He tried to stop it and attempted to speak a few times, but his nerves clearly got the better of him. My heart sank as he gasped and spluttered, then gave in and laughed more and more wildly, notebook tucked under his arm and both hands clamped over his mouth in a futile effort to suppress the hysteria.

"Oh no," I muttered.

"Get off! Freak!" someone called out.

"You're supposed to make _us_ laugh, loser!" another voice shouted.

"There's a place for you in Arkham, buddy!" a third person added, and laughed at his own joke. A couple of other people chuckled.

Arthur fled the stage, still laughing, and disappeared. I jumped out of my seat and hurried back to the entrance, the sound of booing following me. Poor Arthur. He must be so upset.

I found him outside the club, pacing back and forth, tearing at his hair. He had neither his jacket nor his notebook with him and he looked distraught. Bursts of laughter continued to issue from him, while tears rolled down his cheeks at the same time.

"Arthur. Come here. It's all right." I grabbed his arm to stop his pacing.

"It's not all right. I failed. I'm a failure. Look at me. How could anyone ever think _this_ is funny? I'm useless!" He laughed loudly and scrubbed at his tears. "I should have listened to my therapist. She told me I was delusional. I must be, to think I could ever entertain anyone." His laughing gave way to sobs.

"I'm so sorry, Arthur." I slid my arms around him and tugged him against me. After a brief resistance, he pressed closer and wrapped his arms around me, face tucked into my hair and tears dripping down my neck. I stroked his hair and his back, murmuring nonsense words of comfort as I tried to calm him.

Eventually, he pulled away from me and wiped his face on his shirt sleeve. "I left my jacket somewhere," he said hoarsely.

"I'll find it. Wait here." I headed back into the club and made for the backstage area. A member of staff quickly stopped me. "I'm with one of the performers, Arthur Fleck. He left a brown suit jacket here. And a notebook."

"I'll check. Just a minute."

I waited while he disappeared backstage, and a minute later returned with Arthur's jacket and notebook. I took them and headed back outside. Arthur stood where I'd left him, rubbing his arms in the biting November wind.

"I'm sorry about before." He slid his arms into the jacket and buttoned it. Then he took the notebook from me and tossed it into a nearby dumpster. "No point keeping that now. I need to go home."

"Okay." I walked with him to the station. A couple of times I tried talking to him, but he barely answered, lost in his own world of sadness and embarrassment. He sat in silence on the train, hands pressed together between his knees and head down. I wanted to hold his hand, or talk, but I didn't know what to say. I hoped my presence was some small comfort, but he didn't seem aware of me being there. When the train reached our stop, he got up and climbed off without waiting to see if I followed.

I hurried after him and walked at his side as we made our way up the steps to our street. When we stood in the lift, waiting for it to lumber up to Arthur's floor, he stared at his feet.

"Arthur." I tried to get his attention. "I know this didn't turn out the way you hoped, but it doesn't mean there won't be another chance to try. Your nerves got the better of you, that's all. You're very funny."

"You're just trying to make me feel better. Thank you, but I would save your breath." He sighed heavily. "I'm sorry I spoiled your evening. We were going to have coffee."

"It doesn't matter. We can do that another time."

"Maybe." He darted out of the lift when the doors opened. "Goodnight, Audra." Before I could answer or do anything to stop him, he'd reached his apartment door. He unlocked it quickly, slipped inside, and slammed it closed behind him.

"Shit," I muttered. The lift lumbered on up to my floor. There was no point in me knocking on Arthur's door now. He wasn't in the mood for company and I knew he would be feeling mortified for being what he thought was a failure in my eyes. Not only did he not perform, but he had the worst episode I'd seen right after it. He probably wanted to hide and avoid me. All I could do was give him some space and hope he'd come to me or start following me again. Maybe in a day or two, I'd call on him.

I tried to stay away—I really did—but I worried about Arthur so much I found myself at his door the next afternoon, knocking and waiting until five minutes had passed and I assumed he wasn't home, or he was ignoring me. I spent some time with Sophie instead, but I didn't tell her what happened, even though she commented on how distracted I was a couple of times.

On Monday I was back at work and I hoped fervently for that feeling of being watched or followed, but it didn't happen. Nor did Arthur come to the shelter or wait outside for me to finish work. That evening I went to his apartment again and I guessed he was in because I could hear the television, but he didn't answer the door when I knocked several times.

As hard as it was, I stayed away for the rest of the week, worrying about him and hoping he would come to me. I didn't see anything of him and on Saturday when I gave in and knocked again, I heard only silence from his apartment, and I didn't know whether he was there or not.

"What's going on with you?" Sophie asked me on Sunday evening, when we had dinner together.

"Nothing, why?"

"You're not like you. You seem really miserable."

"I'm not exactly the life and soul of the party anyway."

"But you're not like you usually are. It's like someone kicked the stuffing out of you."

I huffed out a breath. "I'm worried about Arthur," I admitted.

"Did something happen?" Her eyes widened.

"A week ago, he tried performing at Pogo's. It went badly and he was upset. Ever since then, he hasn't spoken to me. I think he's too embarrassed. He suffers from depression on top of everything else, and I know he's hurt himself in the past. I guess I'm worried he might do something to himself."

"I wish I could help with that, but I don't know what to suggest. I think you know him better than me. I suppose you could check with his work if he's still there. He's a clown, right? There can't be many companies in the city that do that sort of thing."

"Yeah, I suppose I could do that." The next day was one of my days off, and I thought I would look for the place Arthur might work at. Or better still, I would do what Arthur did. I would lurk and wait for him to appear.

The next morning, I hung out in the stairwell just below Arthur's floor, but after three hours I realised this was silly and futile. The lift only moved once in that time and when I peered out of the window to check who left the building, it was a woman with a child. I chastised myself for being a stalker and gave up. If he wanted me, he knew where I was. I couldn't go on the way I was, with my stupid illusions of someday dating him. I should be the one seeing a therapist. I laughed at myself and determined to leave him alone until he approached me, if he ever did.

That Friday, I decided to do something to treat myself and take my mind off Arthur. I'd tried to stop thinking about him but hadn't been able to despite my resolve. After dinner, I took a bath and put on a red woollen dress I'd bought that week, along with thick black hold-up stockings and boots. There was a new movie showing at the theatre and I decided to go and see it. I'd even get popcorn and make it a proper date with myself.

I checked myself in the bathroom mirror and put on a smear of lipstick after I brushed my hair. Might as well look nice. It would make me feel good. I was about to put on my coat, when a knock on the door startled me. Perhaps it was Sophie. Maybe she'd come to the movies with me—it would be nice to go with a friend. I realised I should have invited her earlier.

I unhooked the chain and opened the door. Then my mouth dropped open. Arthur stood there, wearing a bright red suit, yellow waistcoat, and green shirt, apparently all new. His hair was brushed and glossy, and he held a bunch of orange roses. Orange? I didn't know what orange meant. I'd have to look it up.

"Hello, Audra." He smiled, bright and cheerful, eyes sparkling. He offered me the flowers and I took them, struck dumb. "Are you busy? I'd like to take you out."

"Um—" I cleared my throat. "Thank you for the flowers. I'd, um, I'd like to go out very much. What did you have in mind?"

"Dinner? Have you eaten yet?"

"Only a snack. Just give me a minute to put these in water." Heart pounding, I took the roses to the kitchen and put them in a vase. What could have happened? He was so unlike himself; so confident and happy looking. I grabbed my coat and went back to the door where he waited, hands in his pockets, casual and relaxed. I locked the door and pocketed the key.

Arthur pulled his hands out of his pockets and grasped my hand in his. "There's a nice-looking Chinese restaurant three blocks down," he said. "You once said you like Chinese food."

"Do you like it?" I asked, even more surprised.

"I don't know, but I'll enjoy trying it. Let's go." He squeezed my hand as we stepped into the lift.

"You seem different."

"I was looking forward to seeing you."

"I was worried about you. I haven't seen anything of you for two weeks."

"I just needed to be on my own. I had some things to sort out."

"How are you feeling now?"

"Fine. Good. Better than usual." We left the building and Arthur strode along, drawing me with him.

"Arthur." I stopped walking and pulled him to a halt. "I've never seen you like this. Has something changed? Have they changed your meds or something?"

He laughed, not hysterically, but normally. "That must be it."

"Okay."

"Come on. Let's go or we might not get a table. I should have booked, but I wanted to make sure you wanted to go first." Arthur started to walk again, tugging me along with him.

I walked quicker to keep up. If his medication had been changed, maybe that's what he'd been dealing with during the time I hadn't seen him. It could have taken a week or two to get used to the change. I was still surprised by how utterly different he seemed, not that it was a bad thing. I liked that he was confident and appeared happy.

When we reached the restaurant, Arthur held the door for me, then went to the desk and asked for a table for two. We were shown to a corner table in an alcove and handed menus. A waiter took my coat and went to hang it up.

"You look lovely tonight," Arthur said, smiling appreciatively across the table. "We match, too. Is that a new dress?"

"Yes, I treated myself this week."

"Me too." He grinned and indicated the suit. "Most of my things are old and boring."

"You look very smart. I like the green shirt," I said. "You look good in green."

The waiter returned and offered us drinks. I selected a white wine I liked, and Arthur said he would have the same. When the two glasses arrived, he held his up and clinked mine. "To a wonderful evening together. Um, a first date, maybe?"

"To a first date," I agreed, still stunned. I wouldn't have been surprised if I woke up sometime soon and realised I'd dreamed it all.

Arthur took a sip of his wine and put the glass down. "I like this. I've never had wine."

"I don't have it often. It's a treat."

He smiled wider and reached across the table to cover my hand with his. I turned mine palm up and held his hand. His eyes sparkled.

"You look very happy," I remarked.

"I'm happy to see you."

"Is there anything else? You're not like you usually are."

"Well, I performed at Pogo's earlier."

My eyebrows rose. "You did?"

"Yes, I got the first slot. They have a different compere on today, so he didn't realise I'd been before and bombed. There were only a dozen people in the audience, but I—" He paused and cleared his throat. "Well, I smashed it. That sounds very boastful, doesn't it?"

"It sounds very confident," I corrected. "Weren't you nervous?"

"No. I remembered what you said about it being what I really wanted, so I just went and did it. I'm sorry I didn't invite you. There wasn't time. I wanted to go and do it before I could change my mind. I didn't laugh once, but everyone else did."

"That's wonderful. I'm so pleased for you." I began to relax, although my pulse was still rapid, and I couldn't quite get my breath. I felt a little swept off my feet. "Arthur, what do orange roses mean?" I asked.

"You don't know? Well." He grinned and leaned across the table, dropping his voice to a whisper. "Orange is for desire."

I wasn't often lost for words, and with anyone else, I'd have been able to respond easily. But I was so unused to Arthur being like this. It seemed only yesterday that he was terrified of asking me for a coffee in case I rejected him. Now he was blatantly flirting, and I didn't know how to deal with it.

Arthur smiled. "Let's look at the menus. You might have to help me. I've never had Chinese food."

I selected some chicken and beef dishes with both rice and noodles so we could share each item. When the food arrived, the Arthur I was used to emerged again and he ate slowly and deliberately as if he struggled with each bite, but he cleared his plate. I deliberately ate slowly and sipped my wine every few minutes so that I didn't finish too much before him. We didn't order a dessert and Arthur paid the bill with a flourish, refusing to let me pay half.

We walked back to the apartments hand in hand. My heart fluttered as Arthur walked close beside me, the back of his hand brushing my thigh. I wondered if he would want to kiss me, or if his newfound courage would desert him at that point. I wanted to kiss him, I realised. I wanted to kiss him very much, but I'd wanted to kiss the shy, insecure Arthur some time ago. His new demeanour and his admission he desired me hadn't made that happen suddenly.

The lift trundled upwards slowly, passing Arthur's floor and continuing to mine. I hadn't realised he'd selected my floor instead of his own and I wondered if he was going to escort me to my door and leave it at that.

"Would you like to come in for coffee?" I asked as I unlocked the door.

"I'd like that, thank you." He followed me in and closed the door. "Let me take your coat."

I shrugged it off and he hung it on the peg by the door, then hung his jacket beside it. I took a step towards the kitchen, but Arthur caught my hand and pulled me back.

"Wait." He cleared his throat, gaze darting around and avoiding mine. I was more used to this and I smiled up at him.

"Arthur?"

"Audra—" He took a breath, then cupped my face in both hands and placed his lips on mine.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The kiss was awkward, obviously inexperienced, but it made my pulse race. Arthur's lips slid across mine and our noses bumped. I touched his hands and guided them down to my shoulders to release his grip on my face. Then I brought our lips together again, mine parted, and teased his into a response. After a moment, he was kissing me as if he'd been doing it for years. He slid his arms around me and drew me close, his lips warm and firm as they caressed mine, the tip of his tongue teasing, making me want more. I held onto him, encouraging him to keep kissing me. His heart thumped under my hand and a slight tremble ran through his body. I slipped my hand under his waistcoat and stroked his back through the soft silky fabric of his shirt. A groan rumbled up from his chest. Then something changed.

He held me tighter, his obvious arousal rubbing against my hip. He thrust his tongue into my mouth, his lips crushing mine against my teeth. Desire rushed through me and I responded just as eagerly. It had been a long time since a man wanted me like this—approaching eighteen months. I hadn't been with anyone since the end of my disastrous relationship, and many nights I lay alone in my bed, wishing I had a man with me.

Arthur tore his mouth from mine and pressed his lips to my neck. He took a step forward, then another, guiding me backwards until my legs bumped the sofa. Then I was half falling, half being lowered onto the cushions. Arthur's weight landing on me squashed the breath out of me, and I sucked in air quickly before he resumed kissing me. Clumsily, he ran a hand up my ribcage and cupped my breast, squeezing through my dress. His knee pushed between mine, parting my legs enough to rest between them. The hard heat of his groin pressed against mine and I realised I was already getting wet. My body was as desperate as he appeared to be, but I hesitated to respond when he began pulling up my dress with his free hand.

It was a first date and yes, I'd had sex on first dates before. I wasn't a prude and I knew what I liked. But Arthur was so different tonight. If this had been a first date two weeks ago, we wouldn't be doing this. I knew we wouldn't. He'd have been too shy and nervous. He might have even started to laugh if I kissed or touched him. I had imagined us together like this, but we'd been in bed, gently exploring each other, Arthur tentative and anxious.

While I thought about it, he fumbled with his clothes and his erection slid against my bare thigh, leaving a wet smear on my skin. I pulled my lips from his. "Arthur, wait."

"I want you so much," he groaned. "Oh, fuck." He slid his fingers into my panties, tugging the lace fabric aside. "I need to—"

I moaned, torn between intense desire and fear that he wasn't himself; that this wasn't the Arthur I had come to care for. But then it was too late. He thrust against me, his cock slipping away and along the crease at the top of my thigh. "Fuck." He grasped it firmly and guided himself.

He felt so good. He filled me just right—hot and hard, desperate and uncoordinated. I slid my arms around him and tilted my hips up. He buried himself deep and pressed his face into my neck. He didn't move again. His body shuddered and he came, pulsing inside me. Hot breath fanned my skin as he panted against my throat. Damn, I wanted more. As uncertain as I'd been when I realised his intentions, now I was too aroused to think coherently.

Suddenly, he froze. His body went rigid above me and he stopped breathing. Then he pulled out and away, almost throwing himself off the sofa. "Fuck," he muttered. "Oh, fuck." He stuffed himself back into his clothes and zipped up, hands shaking. "I'm so sorry. Oh, God, I'm so sorry." He fled, not even stopping to snatch his jacket from the peg by the door.

"Arthur?" I sat up, once again stunned, as the door slammed behind him. "Jesus Christ." I pulled myself to my feet and righted my clothes, my face heating. His fluid seeped out and soaked my underwear. What the hell had I been thinking? Seduced by a new confident Arthur and a bunch of orange roses, and now I suspected I'd made a big mistake. I should have stopped him. Not for me—for him. I was sure it was his first time and he already regretted it, judging by his words as he ran away from me. But if I had stopped things before they got that far, would he have felt rejected and just as bad as he seemed to now? At least all of this had quelled my own frustration.

I laughed hollowly and headed for the bathroom to clean up. What now? Should I go after him, or leave him alone?

I flicked on the bathroom light and stared at myself in the mirror—tangled hair, flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes wild. I looked well-fucked. How deceptive appearances could be. I peeled off my dress and stockings, then my underwear too, and took a quick shower. Ten minutes later, I was dressed again in jeans, sweater, and sneakers, jogging down the stairs to Arthur's apartment. The lift wasn't playing ball.

"Arthur!" I knocked on the door. "You all right? Can you hear me?"

There was no sound from within and he didn't answer.

"If you can hear me, just listen, okay? I don't know what you're thinking right now, but if you think you did something wrong, don't. Everything's okay. I wanted to do that just as much as you did." I cleared my throat, hoping the neighbours weren't listening, particularly not Sophie. What the hell would she think? "Arthur?"

A screech of laughter came to me through the door, followed by loud guffaws.

"Arthur, don't be upset. It's all okay," I called.

He carried on laughing, hysterical and out of control. It went on and on, occasionally interspersed with choking and gasping. Eventually, the laughter turned into sobs. I tried the door, but it was locked.

"Arthur, can you come to the door and let me in?"

I tried for maybe half an hour, but he didn't come to the door. Eventually, he was silent. I turned away to walk to the stairs, just as Sophie opened her door.

"Audra, are you okay? I heard something."

"Yeah, I'm okay." I joined her in her apartment, realising I could use a friend right now. "Actually, I'm not. Something happened."

"What? Did Arthur do something?"

"You know you teased me about having a date with him someday and I said 'bullshit?' Yeah." I rolled my eyes. "That was tonight."

"You went on a date with him? Why didn't you tell me?" Her eyes widened and she tugged me down onto the sofa beside her. "Tell me everything!"

"I didn't tell you before because it was so sudden. I haven't seen him for two weeks. I told you he performed at Pogo's and it was a disaster. We were supposed to go for coffee after, but that didn't happen. Then he just avoided me. He was upset and embarrassed about the show. Then tonight he turned up at my door and he was completely different. He had new clothes, he brought flowers, and he asked me to go out to dinner. I've never seen him confident like that. He mentioned something about his meds being changed."

"Meds?" Sophie frowned.

"He takes a whole bunch of stuff. Anti-depressants and things."

"So you went out for dinner?"

"Yeah. It was amazing, but weird. I'm used to him being shy and awkward, and acting like he doesn't deserve to even have a friend."

"What happened?" Sophie began to look worried. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, nothing like that. But things went a lot further than I thought they would."

Her mouth fell open. "Did you sleep with him?"

"If you can call it that. I wasn't expecting it. Suddenly he was on me, and it happened. Then he panicked and fled."

"He forced himself on you? Oh, God, Audra!" She grabbed my hand in hers.

"No! No, it wasn't like that at all. I wanted him. I was as excited as he was. I just didn't expect it _then_. I don't think he's ever been with a woman. Now he's upset and he won't answer the door. I'm worried about him."

"You're worried about _him_? I'm worried about _you_!" She squeezed my hand harder. "You know Penny Fleck had schizophrenia or something like that. He could be the same. He could be a danger to you."

"They're not related. He was adopted. I told you he's only the way he is because of a head injury when he was a kid. I've never felt that he was a danger to me, and I didn't tonight. You really don't need to worry about me. That's not with this is about. I'm worried that he feels bad about what happened. I know you don't get it because you don't know him. He's the sweetest guy, and I guess somehow I started to fall for him. But all I seem to do is worry about him."

"I don't know how to help," Sophie admitted. "I'd tell you to keep out of his way, but you're not going to do that, are you?"

"No." I shook my head. "It's okay. I don't need a solution. I just wanted to talk about it. You won't say anything to anyone, will you?"

"Of course not. But I'm here if you need me. Are you sure he didn't coerce you into doing anything?"

"He didn't. We were kissing. I wanted him. I was just surprised."

"Okay." She leaned over and gave me a hug, then smiled. "I think you're the crazy one, for wanting to be with him."

"Yeah, maybe I am."

I didn't sleep well that night. I worried about Arthur. In the morning I went down to his apartment again before work in the hopes that he might answer the door, but there was silence from within and I didn't know if he was there or not. There was nothing I could do except go to work and try and see him later.

As I travelled home on the train in the afternoon, I had an idea. Rather than wait for the lift, which was at the top of the building, I raced up the stairs to my apartment, dumped my bag from work, and grabbed Arthur's red suit jacket from the peg. I checked each pocket, wondering if he might have had a spare key in there. He'd raced off home without the jacket, so he must have had a key with him. Of course, there was nothing in the pockets. Sighing, I draped the jacket over my arm, locked my door again, and made my way back down to his floor.

As soon as I got near Arthur's door, I heard him laughing. It sounded quieter than usual—subdued—but just as manic. I knocked loudly. "Arthur!"

The laughter turned into choking. I tried the door and much to my relief, it opened. He must have unlocked it at some point since last night. I slipped inside and closed it. He was silent now except for a soft snuffling sound. I went into the living room and halted in the doorway, my heart plummeting.

"Arthur!" I rushed to the sofa and dropped to my knees. He lay on his side, wearing only a pair of well worn white underwear, his left arm hanging off the cushions, dripping blood from several deep gashes between wrist and elbow. His face was wet with tears, his eyes unfocused. "Sweetheart, what have you done?"

"Audra?" His voice slurred. "I hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me, I promise. You didn't do anything wrong." I pulled off my scarf, which thankfully I still wore, and wound it tightly around his arm to stem the blood.

"I'm off my meds," he mumbled. "I'm sorry."

That explained a lot. He'd mentioned taking anti-psychotics as well as anti-depressants.

"Its okay, Arthur, don't worry. We'll get it sorted out. Don't move, I'm gonna call an ambulance." I ran to his phone in the hallway, called the emergency number, and gave them the details. Then I grabbed a blanket from the bedroom and covered him with it. His skin was icy. I stroked his hair away from his face. His eyelids were fluttering and he barely seemed to be breathing. "Arthur, stay with me."

"'M sorry," he whispered again.

"There's nothing to be sorry for. You're gonna be okay. I'm here."

He lost consciousness, and my speeding pulse raced more as I began to panic. "Don't leave me, Arthur. You didn't do anything wrong. Oh God, why didn't I see what was going on last night? I should have realised. I knew you weren't yourself." I kept talking to him, hoping he could hear me and would hang on. I didn't know how much blood he'd lost, but a large puddle had soaked into the carpet next to the sofa.

The door opened and paramedics came in. I jumped up and made way for them. "He's cut himself," I told them. "At least five big gashes. I bound it as tightly as I could."

"Let's get a line in before we move him." One of the paramedics pulled out a canula and began searching for a vein. "Can you tell us about him?"

"His name's Arthur. He was on a mixture of anti-depressants and anti-psychotics, but recently he's stopped taking them. I don't know why. Yesterday he seemed like a completely different person. We went out for a meal. Later he got upset, and I found him like this maybe twenty minutes ago. He told me he's hurt himself before."

"Okay. We'll take care of him now. You want to come with us?"

"Yes," I said at once. "I'm Audra. I'm his friend. He doesn't have any relatives."

Minutes later, Arthur was securely wrapped in the blanket and strapped to a stretcher, and we all travelled down in the lift to the waiting ambulance. The hospital was less than ten minutes away, and when Arthur was taken into the emergency room, I went to the desk to give them his details. Then I waited. No one came to tell me if he was okay, and several times I asked, but was told I wasn't related so they couldn't give me any information.

The paramedics came in with another person they'd been sent to help, and the kindly man who'd put the drip in Arthur's arm came to me. "Still waiting?"

"They won't tell me anything. He doesn't have anyone else." I was on the verge of tears, terrified Arthur might not have made it.

"Come with me." He smiled and gestured to the corridor. I jumped up and followed quickly. "I heard he's all right." He led me to an open door, a ward containing several beds beyond it. "Hey, Suzanne!" he called out to a nurse. "Visitor for Arthur Fleck. She's his girlfriend. He doesn't have any next-of-kin. Let her see him, will you?"

Much to my relief, the nurse beckoned me into the room and led me to the bed in the far corner, which had a curtain pulled most of the way around it.

"I'm Audra," I told her.

"He mentioned you. He's awake, don't worry."

I heaved a sigh of relief.

"Don't stay too long. The psychiatrist is coming to see him soon."

"Okay. Thank you." I stepped around the curtain.

Arthur huddled under the sheet, his shoulders covered by a typical blue and white hospital gown. His left arm was bandaged from wrist to shoulder, and a saline drip and a blood transfusion were hooked up and attached to the canula in his right arm.

"Hey." I sat down beside the bed.

He moved his head slightly to look at me, then groaned and closed his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Arthur."

"I was off my meds. I shouldn't have come near you like that. I thought I knew what I was doing. Everything seemed so bright and different. I felt like I could do anything."

"Why were you off your meds?" I asked him.

"The system cut social care funding. I lost my therapist and without her I can't get my prescription."

"I'm sorry."

"I hurt you," he said again.

"You didn't hurt me." I leaned closer and took his hand in mine. "I wanted you, Arthur. I care about you, and I want you. Nothing you did was something I hadn't imagined and hoped for a hundred times. It just surprised me, that's all. I didn't expect it right then. You were so different."

"I'm a terrible person. It's better for you if you stay away from me. They'll probably lock me up anyway."

"It'll cost them a lot more to do that than to fund your meds." I brushed his hair away from his face and stroked his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

"I don't deserve you." He tugged my hand closer to his lips and pressed a kiss onto my knuckles.

Before I could say anything else, we were interrupted by the psychiatrist arriving to talk to Arthur. The nurse, Suzanne, showed me to a family room where I could sit and wait, and make myself a hot drink.

Absentmindedly, I made tea the way Arthur liked it, and grimaced through every mouthful at the excessive sweetness. An hour passed, and I was about to go and ask if I could see him again when the door opened and a lady in a casual outfit looked in.

"Audra?"

"Yes."

"Will you come with me, please? I'd like to have a little chat, if that's okay?"

"Sure. Is Arthur all right?" I got up, immediately anxious.

"Yes."

I followed her, curious, to another room laid out like a comfortable living room. She closed the door behind us and invited me to take a seat. I sat and folded my hands together. She sat beside me, a couple of feet away.

"I would like us to talk about what happened to you yesterday."

Immediately, my anxiety rose. "What do you mean?"

"I understand that the man you came in with earlier—Arthur—has forced himself on you."

"That's ridiculous!" I exclaimed at once, horrified. "Who told you that?"

"He did."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"I need to see him." I got to my feet.

"Please, Audra. Sit down. It's not unusual to be in denial in situations like this."

"Denial?" I shook my head. "Who are you, anyway?"

"Catherine March. Psychologist. I did introduce myself when I came to find you, but perhaps you didn't hear me."

"No, I didn't."

"Perhaps you'd like to tell me in your own words what happened."

"Sure, if it clears up this nonsense." I sat down again. "I've known Arthur a while. We were friends but he was very shy. He's always been alone. He told me he was taking a lot of medication."

"Yes, we have records."

"A couple of weeks ago he intended to perform at a comedy club, and we were to go for coffee after. Things didn't go well at the club. He got upset and we went straight home. He hid from me for a while—two weeks. I didn't see him until yesterday. Then he turned up at my door in a new suit, with flowers, asking me to go for dinner. Sure, he was different from what I was used to, but I went with it. He said he was happy because he'd been looking forward to seeing me. We had dinner, we went back to my place for coffee, and—"

"And things got out of hand?" Catherine interrupted gently.

"Not the way you mean. You don't know anything about me. You know the North Street Homeless Shelter? I work there. It's not a nice area and we get undesirables hanging around. Sometimes you'll get someone high on meths come in or bother us when we leave. I'm trained in self-defence. I always carry mace and a knife. I'm stronger than I look, and I definitely know how to get out of a hold, whatever kind it is. Arthur didn't hurt me. He wouldn't hurt one hair on my head. We kissed; things got heated. He didn't do anything I didn't want, but he panicked. I suspect he's never been with a woman before. He ran away. I went after him, but I didn't get to see him until today, and then I found him in the state he was in when the paramedics brought him in. He told me he's off his medication because the funding for his care was cut. That's why he was acting so different. I didn't think to question it. He just seemed happy to be spending time with me."

"So why has he told me he hurt you? That he did something you didn't want."

"Because he's upset. He usually doesn't have much confidence in himself. He feels like a failure and he fears I won't want him. He said he was sorry he hurt me several times."

"You seem to know him quite well."

"I'm beginning to. If anything, I feel like the one who's taken advantage. I should have realised he wasn't ready for that. He needs friendship right now, not a lover."

Catherine nodded and smiled, much to my relief. "I can see you're telling the truth. Arthur has, unfortunately, a history of distorting things in his own mind."

"Can I see him?"

"Of course. You have a little time before he's transferred."

"Transferred?" I stared at her, my breath catching in my throat.

"There's a place ready for him at Arkham. There will be an ambulance available to take him there in about an hour."

"No!" I cried. "You can't lock him up in there. He's not crazy."

"No, but he's a danger to himself. He needs proper twenty-four-hour care while he's assessed and given new medication. Once things settle down, the doctors there will review the situation."

"Oh, God, no," I groaned. "I can't believe this. He was doing okay. He has a job and an apartment. He had some bad episodes before he went off his medication, but mostly he seemed to get on fine."

"Perhaps you could speak with his employer and landlord?"

I could imagine what the reaction would be if I approached the city housing office, told them Arthur was in Arkham, and asked if they could they waive his rent for the foreseeable. He'd get home to find his stuff gone and someone else living in his apartment.

"I'll deal with it," I said. "You will make sure everyone knows the truth, won't you? That he didn't hurt me?"

Catherine nodded. "Thank you for talking to me, Audra."

"One more thing. He's in this situation because the system cut the funding for people like him. What happens when he leaves Arkham?"

"I'm sorry to say he's a high-risk case that shouldn't have slipped through the net. He works and pays taxes. He shouldn't have been left without care. The services have been cut, yes, but he'll have a therapist here at the hospital when he leaves Arkham, and whatever prescriptions he needs."

"Thank God," I muttered. "I mean, thank you."

I left her and went to find Arthur. He was in the ward where I left him, dressed in white cotton trousers and a short-sleeved shirt, hospital slippers on his feet. He sat on the bed, fiddling with the edge of the bandage on his arm.

"Arthur?"

He looked up at my voice, his green eyes full of sorrow. "I'm so sorry," he murmured.

"Don't you say that to me again. You have nothing to be sorry for, Arthur. Not a thing." I sat beside him and took his hands in mine. "I told them exactly what happened. You didn't do anything wrong."

"You should have stopped me."

"I didn't want to stop you. Look at me." I touched his face and made him meet my gaze. "I liked kissing you, and everything else. I was just as excited as you were. You know I can take care of myself. If I'd wanted you to stop, I could have stopped you. You do know that?"

"I suppose." He nodded slowly.

"I wish I had stopped things going that far, only because you were so upset after. I think we should have gone on a few more dates first. Perhaps we can when you get out of the hospital."

"You still want to?" he said in disbelief.

"Yes, I want to. I care about you, Arthur. I'd like to go for dinner again, or to the movies, or even just sit in front of the TV together and watch Murray Franklin. Whatever you want. But I can promise you, whatever it is we do, I will want to kiss you, a lot. And whatever comes next, when you're ready for it."

Tears slid down Arthur's cheeks and he put his hands over his face. "I don't deserve you," he choked.

"Yes, you do. You're the sweetest guy I know, and I want you in my life. I'll be waiting, when you come home."

"You know they're putting me in Arkham?" His voice shook and he sniffed hard.

"Yes, I know. They want to make sure you're safe and get your meds sorted again. You could have died today, Arthur. You lost a lot of blood."

"Yeah, I know. What about my apartment? All my stuff?"

"I'll take care of it. Don't worry about anything. I can go and see your employer too, if you want. See if they can hold your job for you."

"You'd do that for me?"

"Of course."

"I work for Ha-Ha's. My boss is Hoyt. He's an arsehole, but he says he likes me and that I do a good job."

"I'll go and see him," I promised.

"How much time do we have?" Arthur lifted his head and rubbed his hands over his cheeks to dry them.

"Not long. They're waiting for an ambulance to come for you."

"I'm sorry you're having to deal with all this. I didn't think about what I was doing earlier. I just wanted to get away from what I did."

"I know." I tentatively leaned closer, desperate to hug him.

"I won't go it again." He sniffed. "But I think you should forget about me. I'm not worth it. I'll just keep causing you trouble and making you miserable. It's not fair on you. Besides, when I get out I'll go back to square one. I don't know why they're bothering with me. As soon as I leave, I'll be off my meds again and—"

"You won't. The woman who talked to you—Catherine—told me you shouldn't have lost your support. You'll have a therapist here at the hospital in the future and they'll give you your prescriptions."

Arthur shook his head. "I'm not worth it," he repeated. "I'm a waste of everyone's time."

"Don't talk like that. You _are_ worth it. Let them help you. I'm not going anywhere, and I want you to remember that when you're in the hospital. I'll be waiting for you and one day, when you're ready, you can buy me red roses."

"Do you know what red means?"

"Yes, I know." I probably shouldn't have done it, but I couldn't stop myself. I cupped his face in my hands, and kissed him on the lips, slow and gentle. "Think about this, too, because it's the first thing I'll do when I see you again."

I drew away at the sound of someone clearing their throat and looked up to see Catherine standing a little distance away. She had a smile on her face and had clearly seen and heard enough to believe what I'd told her.

"They're ready for you, Arthur," she told him.

Suzanne walked over pushing a wheelchair and helped Arthur get into it. He was very weak and collapsed into the chair after taking two steps from the bed.

"Goodbye, Audra," he said, barely above a whisper.

"'Bye, Arthur. I'll see you soon." I stayed where I was as they wheeled him away, then I left and made my way home, struggling to hold back my tears.

By the time I got home, it was late, and I was exhausted. I lay down on the sofa, thinking I would rest for a few minutes before I got ready for bed, but I woke up hours later with a stiff neck. Thankfully, I didn't have to work that day. I showered, dressed, and ate breakfast, then went down to Sophie's apartment, hoping to catch her before she went to work.

"God, Audra, you look terrible!" she exclaimed, as she let me in.

"Thanks a lot."

"I mean, you look tired and sad."

"I am tired and sad. How long have you got?"

"I'm on a half day. I don't go in until one o'clock. I'll make some coffee. Has something happened?"

"Arthur tried to kill himself," I blurted, and burst into tears. I wasn't much of a crier, but the last twenty-four hours had been too much. "He's in Arkham," I sobbed, as Sophie wrapped her arms around me.

"Oh my God. Come and sit down." Coffee forgotten, she ushered me to the sofa. A few minutes later, when I'd mopped up my tears with a handful of tissues, I told her the whole story.

"I don't know how long they'll keep him there. I suppose it depends on him," I finished. "He has to want to get better."

"The system is shit," Sophie said. "It took him almost dying for them to realise they made a mistake by cutting his support. Anybody with money wouldn't have gone through this. We just don't matter."

"I know. I have another problem, too. It's not an immediate issue, because the rent was paid on Friday, but if Arthur's still in hospital in a month, his rent won't get paid. If he's in for two months or more, he won't have a home to come back to."

"I suppose you could talk to the housing office," Sophie said doubtfully.

I snorted. "I can imagine the conversation. 'Mr Fleck is in Arkham for the foreseeable future.' 'Oh good, we have a family needing an apartment.' I have to go and see his employer, too, and ask if they'll hold his job."

"Supposing it's all okay and he comes home in a few weeks. What will happen between you two?" Sophie asked.

"I don't know yet. I'll always be his friend. I hope it will be more, but I don't know. At the moment, he thinks he's not worth it."

I stayed with Sophie for the rest of the morning until she had to get ready for work. Then, as inclined as I was to fall into a miserable hole of self-pity, I travelled into the city to find Ha-Ha's. Doing something to help Arthur helped me feel better.

I found the place easily enough; a dilapidated building with a sign above a door. The other side of the door was a flight of stairs leading to the upper floor. I immediately came face to face with a huge man dressed as a clown, and I knew I was in the right place.

"Hi." I cleared my throat. "I'm looking for someone called Hoyt?"

"And you are?"

"I'm Audra. I'm Arthur Fleck's friend."

"Ooooh." The clown's eyes widened. "He has a friend? A pretty thing like you? And we all thought he was making you up."

"He talked about me?"

"Oh yes. Pretty Audra from the apartment upstairs. He bought you roses and took you out for dinner. Or was that a figment of his imagination?"

"No, it wasn't his imagination." I frowned. "Who are you?"

"I'm sorry. I'm Randall." He offered a hand in a huge white glove for me to shake. When I took it, my palm buzzed with the joke device he had in his glove. I snatched my hand back while he laughed raucously.

"Where can I find Hoyt?"

"Through there." Randall pointed down a corridor. "Last door."

I made my way to Hoyt's office and knocked.

"Yes, come in!"

I entered and closed the door behind me. The man at the desk looked up and his eyes widened.

"Well, good afternoon. And who might you be?" He offered me a lascivious smile.

Inwardly, I rolled my eyes, but I immediately saw a way of getting a favour out of him if he wasn't inclined to offer one out of the good of his heart. I leaned on the desk and smiled. "Hello... Hoyt. I'm here to talk to you about Arthur Fleck."

Hoyt tutted. "What's he done now?"

"He's sick. I'm his friend. He was anxious about letting you down, so I wanted to come and appeal to your better nature and see if you could hold his job for him. Please."

"Sick? In what way? His usual freakiness, or something else? He's been weirder than usual anyway, the last couple of weeks."

"Usual freakiness." I hated using Hoyt's own words to describe Arthur, but I imagined this man was in the same boat as most of us and hated the system. "He's been weirder than usual because the powers that be took away his support."

Hoyt frowned. "Bastards. Doesn't surprise me. It's all about saving money."

"Exactly. He's in the hospital getting things sorted."

Hoyt huffed out a breath. "Arkham?"

"Um—"

He waved a hand. "It wouldn't surprise me. I don't care about that. He's popular. He makes me money when he's on his game. How long's he gonna be locked up?"

I winced. "I'm not sure. Not too long, I hope."

"Well, I got nothing to lose. I can cover the bookings he has for this week. After that—it's a quiet period anyway, coming up to Christmas. Folks are doing other stuff. They're not so interested in hiring clowns. He can come back when he's ready. I'll always be able to book him out."

"That's wonderful." I gave him a winning smile. "You're so kind."

"Well, I try." He puffed up his chest and grinned.

"I'll be seeing you," I said warmly, and left the office. "What an arsehole," I muttered as I descended the stairs. But at least he'd agreed to my request. Now I just had to sort out the issue of Arthur's apartment, although I had some time to do it.

I took the train back and let myself into Arthur's place. I still had the key from locking up when he was taken to the hospital. First, I emptied the fridge of items that would go off. A few things I could use myself, so I took them back to my own place. The rest, I threw out. Then I scrubbed the carpet, over and over, until the blood stains reduced to a faint discolouration. Finally, feeling like a creep and a spy invading his privacy, I searched for his rental agreement.

Arthur kept his papers in good order in a large file. It was divided into sections and the one at the front was labelled 'rent,' much to my relief. At least I didn't have to poke and pry too much to find what I needed. He paid the same amount as I did, on the same day of the month. The payment was taken directly out of his bank, which was the arrangement I had, too.

"Sorry, Arthur," I said aloud, as I flicked through the file to the section marked 'bank.' I found the most recent statement and unclipped it from the file. The balance, dated just a few days ago, showed he barely had enough money to buy a bag of groceries, but payments from Ha-Ha's were made weekly, so at least he didn't have a long time to wait in between. Unfortunately, Ha-Ha's wouldn't be paying him for a while.

I checked the statement carefully for other sums going out regularly, but there didn't seem to be any. Our rent included services charges, so there were no individual bills that might come up in his absence. I put the file away but kept the statement. The only thing I could do was find the extra money for Arthur's rent and put it in his bank before the next payment went out. I knew I had enough spare in my account to do it, but if he was in Arkham longer than a month, I'd have to conjure up extra money from somewhere.

I went home and called the man who ran North Street. Currently, I worked around seven hours each day I was there. Tammy had recently quit, and they were struggling to find someone reliable to fill her place. I offered myself for unlimited extra hours, and when I ended the call, I had increased shifts for up to ten hours, and a six-day working week instead of five days. That should cover it. Now all I had to do was find a way to get through the next weeks, or months, without worrying too much about Arthur. That would be easier said than done.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

I worked so many hours that week that tiredness made me sleep at night when otherwise, I might have stayed awake worrying. I had Sunday off and spent the morning with Sophie, although I didn't tell her about the lengths I was going to in order to keep Arthur's apartment for him. She'd think I was crazy enough to be in Arkham with him.

Later, having the time to think didn't do me a lot of good. I went over and over the things that had happened before he cut himself and wondered if I could have done anything different. I perhaps should have realised he needed help that night he asked me on a date. Looking back, it was so obvious he wasn't himself. But I couldn't change things now. All I could do was hope he would soon be well enough to come home.

Eventually, I decided to at least call the hospital and see if they could tell me anything. I doubted it would be possible, because I wasn't related or noted as next-of-kin. I was right—the woman I spoke to wouldn't even confirm whether Arthur was a patient there, but I asked her to take a note of my name and number, should it be needed.

On Monday, I had just finished washing up after the lunch service, when I turned around to find Catherine March talking to Jason. My pulse quickened and I hurried over, worried something might have happened to Arthur.

"Audra, could I have a quick word?"

"How did you find me?" I asked, as I led her to a table in the corner.

"You said you worked here. I understand you called the hospital yesterday to check on Arthur."

"They told you? I'm sorry if I was wrong. I can't help worrying about him. Is he all right?"

"Actually, he's not doing too well."

My heart sank at Catherine's serious expression. "Has he hurt himself again?"

"Oh no, nothing like that. The patients in Arkham rarely come into contact with anything they could use to hurt themselves with. The main problem is that he won't eat. He's already terribly underweight as you obviously realise. I've talked to him most days this past week or tried to. It's not the norm for me to talk to someone who isn't next-of-kin, but given the situation, I've made an exception. Arthur fears his actions will have driven you away, and that he'll have nowhere to go if or when he leaves the hospital. I think that's making him behave the way he is, so he'll have to stay there."

I groaned. "What can I do?"

"I think a visit might help."

"You allow visitors?"

"If the patient requires it."

"When?"

"The sooner the better. I can take you there this afternoon, if you're able to get away."

"I'll speak to my colleagues." I left her at the table and went to talk to Jason.

"Who is that?" he asked before I could say anything.

"A doctor."

"Are you okay?" His brow wrinkled.

"It's not me. A friend is in hospital. They need me to visit. You think I can slip away? If I take today as a half day, I'll work half my day off on Thursday."

"Sure, we can manage. Why are you doing so many extra hours, anyway?" he asked. "You only said to fill in while we find a replacement for Tammy. You need money, or something?"

"Yeah, I have some extra bills I need to cover. I'll see you tomorrow." I collected my coat and bag from the secure room behind the counter and followed Catherine outside.

It was a ten-minute walk to Arkham from the shelter. When we arrived, I handed in my coat and bag to a security man, walked through a scanner to make sure I didn't have any metal objects on me, and signed in. Then Catherine led me down a long white corridor. Everything was white. The floors, walls, ceiling, and doors to the rooms. When we reached Arthur's room and she opened the door, everything inside was white, too, including the hospital pyjamas Arthur wore as he sat on the edge of the bed. He made no sign that he had heard us, and continued staring at the floor, hair hanging around his face. His arm was still bandaged, and he looked thinner than ever.

"Oh God," I muttered.

"I'll leave you alone," Catherine said quietly. "We'll be watching on a monitor, should anything happen."

I stepped forward, and she closed the door behind me.

"Arthur?" He didn't respond. I crossed the room quietly and sat on the bed beside him, leaving a gap of about a foot between us. "Arthur."

He raised his head and turned to look at me, eyes vacant and bloodshot in his pale face. After a moment, he blinked, and his expression changed. "Audra?"

"Yes, it's me."

"I thought I'd never see you again. Why are you here?"

"I was worried about you, and Catherine asked me to come and see you. You haven't been eating, have you?"

"There's no point." He shrugged. "What have I got to go back to?"

My heart clenched. I reached over to take his hand and squeezed it in both of mine. "You have me," I said. "I meant it when I told you I'd be waiting for you, Arthur. I'll wait as long as I have to, but you have to want to get better so you can come home."

"I won't have a home soon."

"Yes, you will." I lifted one hand to touch his face and make him look at me again when he turned his head away. "I went to see Hoyt. He said your job will still be there for you when you're ready to go back. You're popular, he said. And your apartment is still there the way you left it, and it will be when you're ready for it."

"How?" His brows drew together.

"Don't worry about that. I sorted it out."

"But how?" he repeated.

"If I tell you, promise not to get upset." I knew he would get upset; he was bound to. But maybe it would give him an incentive to try to get better. "I have enough money to pay the next month's rent for you. I'm sorry for prying into your personal business, but I found a bank statement, so I have the account details to pay the money into."

"No!" A look of horror crept over Arthur's face.

"I'm sorry, but—"

"No, you can't do that. You can't give me your money. I don't deserve that." He burst into loud laughter and pulled his hand free of mine.

"It's fine. I can cover it until you're better."

"Oh God," he gasped in between laughs. "Why? Why are you so nice to me?" The laughter continued until he ran out of breath and choked.

I reached over to rub his back. "I care about you, Arthur. Everybody needs someone to be nice to them. I need you to do something for me, too, okay?"

"What is it?"

"I need you to start eating. You're starving yourself. Catherine told me they've tried everything to get you to eat and it's not working. That's why I'm here. They thought I might be able to help."

"I don't feel like eating."

"I know you don't. But try, for me. It'll make me happy, and you will feel better when you're healthier. When we were walking here, Catherine told me they can't regulate your meds properly because you need food in your body, too."

Arthur nodded slowly. He looked up at me again. "You said the next time you saw me you would kiss me again."

"I did."

"But you haven't."

"I want to. Do you want me to?" I doubted Catherine and the other staff would think it was a good idea, but maybe it would help him if he thought he had that to look forward to.

Arthur nodded again. I leaned in and brushed my lips lightly across his, drew back, then did it again. His lips twitched at one corner.

"Will you have something to eat now, if I eat with you?" I asked.

"Okay," he said after a pause.

I glanced up at the camera in the corner, wondering if they had a speaker, too. My silent question was answered a second later, when a disembodied voice spoke. "Audra, would you like to come to the dining room with Arthur? Turn right out of the room and it's at the end of the corridor."

I got up. "Come on, Arthur."

"How long are you staying?"

"A while, until I know you're going to be okay and that you'll start getting better."

We walked slowly down the corridor, Arthur dragging his feet and pausing halfway to lean on the wall. "I feel dizzy."

I slid my arm around him. "That's probably from not eating. You'll be weak."

He leaned on me as we completed the short walk into the dining room and sat down at a table. Catherine appeared a few minutes later, with another member of staff carrying a tray. It held two bowls of soup, some buttered bread, and two slices of cake.

Arthur ate without any enthusiasm, but he did finish the soup, eat one piece of bread, and a couple of bites of cake. I kept pace with him, happy to eat the food as I hadn't had the chance to get anything at work before Catherine showed up.

"I'm full." Arthur pushed his plate away.

"It won't take much to fill you up at the moment." I covered his hand with mine where it lay on the table. "Promise me you'll eat from now on. If you don't try to get better, they won't let you leave. I know you think there's nothing to come back to, but there is. You still have your home and your job, and you have me. I'll be waiting."

"I feel bad all the time," he murmured.

"Things might get better when you can have the proper medication."

"I suppose. All right. I'll do my best, if it makes you happy." He didn't smile, but he squeezed my hand in return.

We walked slowly back to Arthur's room and he sat on the edge of the bed where I'd found him. I stood close and rested my hands on his shoulders. "Do you want me to stay longer, or shall I go?"

"I want to go to sleep now. I sleep a lot. Then I don't think."

"You have something good to think about now," I reminded him. "I'm going to make sure they have my phone number here, and a note of the times I'm home. If you're allowed to have phone calls, maybe you can call me sometimes. I'll see if they'll let me visit when I have my day off, too."

Finally, the faintest smile touched his lips. "I don't deserve you."

"Yes, you do." I pressed a kiss onto his forehead. "Remember what's gonna make me happy."

"Eat. I know. I will." Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me tight against him. I slid my arms around his neck in return, and we hugged for several minutes before he let me go.

"I'll see you soon, Arthur. I promise." I left him, and by the time I was stepping through the door, he had already curled up on the bed and closed his eyes.

"That seemed to go well," Catherine said as she walked me out. I'd already left details of the hours I worked and my phone number. Arthur would have use of the phone every day if he wanted to speak to me, and I could visit each week. "How did you get him to eat?"

"I told him it would make me happy."

"You're very fond of him," she observed.

"I love him," I blurted. My face heated. "I haven't told him that. We haven't really known each other that long, but I do. Even if we can only really be friends, I won't let him down. I just have to get him to believe that."

As I travelled home on the train, sadness descended on me. I should have been happy I could see Arthur, but I was only hurt that he thought so little of himself and felt so alone. I would just have to hope that he would make an effort to get better now, and that his stay in Arkham wouldn't be too long.

I saw Arthur again on Thursday, my official day off. I worked until after the lunchtime rush, then made my way to Arkham. One of the staff showed me to Arthur's room after I checked in, and I immediately saw the difference in him. It had only been four days, but he looked bright and had more colour in his face. The bandages were off his arm, revealing well-healed pink scars. Then I spotted a calendar hanging on the wall—the kind with big squares for each day so that you could write reminders in them. Today's date had "Audra" scrawled in it in untidy lettering.

"Hey, Arthur."

He quickly got to his feet and pulled me into a hug. "You came."

"I promised I would." I kissed his cheek. "You have a calendar."

"They thought it would help if I had something to look forward to."

"You look better. You've been eating?"

"Yes." He backed away and nodded to emphasise it. "Three times a day."

"Do you have something to write with?"

He laughed, not a wild laugh, but an amused chuckle. "Just this." He picked up a thick black crayon from the shelf above the bed. "We're not allowed pens in case we stab ourselves, or somebody else."

I realised my name had been written in crayon. I took it from him and wrote "Audra" in the square for the following Monday. "This is my next day off."

"Can you come for lunch?"

"Of course, if they don't mind." We sat on the bed together. "Have they sorted out your medication?"

"Yes, but I only have to take three different ones. I used to have seven before the care funding was cut. Some of them were the wrong ones. The new ones are supposed to calm me down, but also lift my spirits. I don't know if they do or not. I feel a bit different, but Catherine said it would take a couple of weeks to notice any significant change. She said then new ones won't make me numb like the old ones did."

"Numb?"

"I couldn't feel much. I mean, in here." He put his hand over his heart. "She says that's probably why I went crazy when I was off them, because it was a huge change." He bit his lip and flushed. "Are you sure I didn't hurt you that day? I told her I did before I came here."

"You didn't, I promise." I gave his hand a squeeze. "We were just two people who'd been out on a date, doing what comes next. Everything we did, I wanted to do."

"Okay." He nodded. "I wanted to make sure, now I can think better. Would you ever want to do that again?" Colour suffused his face and he stared down at our joined hands. I found it endearing.

"Absolutely, yes. When you're ready to." My pulse quickened as I immediately imagined us kissing, touching, falling into bed together. My own face burned, and I pushed the thought aside.

Arthur laughed, another genuine laugh. "Your face is red."

"Because you're making me think about things I shouldn't be thinking about right now."

"But I thought you were a woman of the world," he teased.

"I wouldn't go that far."

"You've had a boyfriend before, though."

"Yes. A real idiot. I told you about him once."

"He gambled." Arthur frowned. "Was he, um, the only one?"

"No. Does that matter?"

"No. I just think I'm lucky that you seem to like me now. Nobody ever has before. I mean, a woman. You probably realised that." It was his turn to flush again.

"Yes, I realised. It doesn't matter. You know, this is a pretty deep conversation for right now."

"I know, but I wanted to have it. I was thinking about it."

We spent the rest of the time talking about things we'd done. Arthur spent a lot of time in his room when he wasn't having his therapy sessions, or in the dining room. But he did talk to another man sometimes, who had also attempted suicide. They sat together for some meals, or would read books together, in silence, but at least with company.

I felt better when I left him. My visit on Sunday had obviously made a big difference to his outlook, and I didn't worry so much about him. Instead, I kept thinking about him coming home, however long it would be before that happened. As much as I tried not to, I repeatedly daydreamed about us having another date—one that would end in sweet kisses and maybe more, but without the disaster of the last one.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Arthur stayed in Arkham for five weeks. He telephoned me every couple of days in the evenings which helped him. The calls helped me, too, because I could hear how he was. Each time I saw him, there was an improvement. Sometimes, his depression got the better of him and he couldn't get out of bed and talk to me, even though he'd been looking forward to seeing me. On the whole, however, things got much better for him when his doctors were able to get his medication regulated. He ate—admittedly like a bird—but he did eat, and although he remained too thin, as he was when I first got to know him, he wasn't skeletal and there was colour in his face.

When I learned of his release date, I ensured I could take a couple of days off work together. I went to meet him, and Catherine gave him a schedule of bi-weekly appointments at the hospital to ensure his therapy continued. He had a two-week supply of his meds and would be given a new prescription a few days before they ran out.

Catherine had asked me to go and meet Arthur at ten o'clock. I went grocery shopping beforehand, to get a few basics for Arthur's fridge. I took some clothing from his apartment, then made my way to Arkham, butterflies fluttering in my stomach at the thought of him coming back with me.

"How is he?" I asked Catherine, after I'd left my coat with the security guard, and had the bag checked to ensure nothing was in it besides clothes for Arthur.

"Nervous. Unsure about going out into the big wide world again. He'll be all right, I'm sure. It's good to know he won't be completely alone."

"I'll be able to see him every evening if necessary," I told her. "My working hours will be shorter again now, and I'll have two days off each week."

Catherine left me to make my own way to Arthur's room. I knocked and opened the door.

"Audra!" He sprang up from the chair he'd been sitting in and came to hug me. I dropped the bag on the floor and slid my arms around him.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"Catherine said you're nervous."

"Only of things getting bad again and me ending up back in here. I do want to leave. I just keep thinking about what made me have to come here in the first place."

"That started because you lost your care worker and meds," I reminded him. "You won't have that problem this time."

"I hope not."

"I got you some groceries," I told him. "Milk, bread, stuff to make sandwiches. There are still some frozen dinners in your freezer that should be okay."

"You've done so much for me." He sighed.

"Don't you dare say you don't deserve it," I threatened, and gave him a squeeze before I let him go.

"I was going to say thank you." He grinned sheepishly.

"You're welcome." I grabbed the bag again. "I brought you some things to wear to go home in. I'll wait outside while you get changed." I slipped out of the room and waited. Ten minutes later, the door opened, and Arthur emerged, dressed in his familiar clothes with his favourite tan jacket.

All that remained to be done, was for Arthur to sign a form confirming his residential care had ended. He put his appointment schedule and meds in the bag, and we walked outside into a fresh shower of snow. Arthur grasped my hand in his and held tight.

"I missed Christmas," he said. "What did you do?"

"I spent the day with Sophie. She didn't have anyone else either. And I saw you the day after, remember?"

"All the days blurred into one," Arthur admitted. "I wanted to get you a Christmas present, but I couldn't in there, and I don't know what you like."

"I had plenty of Christmas presents, every time you called me, and when I came to see you and saw you were getting better. You don't need to buy me anything. What were your Christmases like before Penny died?"

"Not very interesting. We had frozen dinners as usual, only they were turkey with stuffing and cranberry sauce. Then we watched TV." He shrugged. "No different from any other day. Sometimes I volunteered to perform at the children's hospital in the afternoon, just for something to do."

"Next Christmas will be better, for both of us," I told him. "We can spend it together. Decorate a tree, cook a proper feast, open presents."

"You might get sick of me by next Christmas."

"I won't."

Arthur pulled his hand free of mine again and placed his arm around my shoulders instead. "Is this okay?"

"It's more than okay." I slid my arm around his waist, and we walked close together, holding onto each other, as we headed for the station.

When we reached Arthur's apartment, I gave him his key to unlock the door, but he gave me it back as soon as he'd opened it. "You should keep this spare one," he said. He walked around the rooms as if he were examining a new apartment.

"You okay?"

"It feels weird. I suppose because I got used to being in the hospital. What happens now? Are you leaving?"

"I'm not going anywhere. I have the day off, and I'm not working tomorrow either. I thought I would make us a meal tonight, if you'd like that."

Arthur nodded. "That'd be nice. Thank you." He was subdued and I decided not to suggest doing anything else. Instead, I put the kettle on to make us some drinks. While I was making the coffees, he found a notebook and pen. "Will you tell me how much money I owe you? I'll pay it back as soon as I can."

"You don't have to do that."

"Yes, I do. I hoped you might still be my friend when I got out of there. I never expected you to work enough hours for two people so you could pay my rent. Please, tell me so I can pay you back. It might take me a long time, but I'll do it."

"Okay." I told him the total figure and broke it down into two rent payments, and a couple of bags of groceries. He wrote it in his notebook.

"I'll go to see Hoyt later and get my work sorted out."

"Wouldn't it be better to leave that until tomorrow? You've barely been out of the hospital an hour. You seem unsettled and I think it'd be better just getting used to being home."

"But I need to be earning money again." He paced and twisted his hands together, then barked out a laugh.

"Arthur, don't get upset. One day won't matter." I passed him his coffee. "We can go into the city together tomorrow and you can see Hoyt. Maybe get a coffee and some cake somewhere, too."

His anxiety subsided enough for him to smile. "Like a date?"

"Yes. A coffee date."

"All right."

I spent the rest of the day with him. He made some plain ham and tomato sandwiches for lunch, and we watched a couple of TV shows together. Then we went to my apartment and I made pasta for dinner. Suddenly, Arthur froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. "The last time I was here—"

"—we'd just had a lovely Chinese meal and we kissed," I interrupted quickly, guessing he was remembering the worst aspect of the evening. "I loved kissing you. You made my knees weak."

He giggled. "I'd never kissed anyone before."

"I know. And you very quickly became an expert at it. I loved everything we did that night. Don't ever think otherwise."

"I, I didn't even—" Another laugh burst from him and he put his fork down. The laughter continued, and he covered his mouth with both hands, trying to keep it in and failing. His eyes watered.

"Hey." I quickly put the two plates on the nearby table and took one of his hands. "You really don't have to worry about that."

It took a few minutes before his laughter reduced to choking and hiccups. "I could have made you have a baby," he managed to say eventually. "You're not going to, are you?"

"No. I take the pill."

"What pill?"

"The pill women taken to stop them getting pregnant. That's not something you need to worry about. Not in the future either."

"Okay." He nodded slowly. "That would be a disaster. I can never have a kid. It would probably be crazy and end up in Arkham."

"Arthur, I have no desire to have kids. But if we ever did, it would be fine. Remember this. Penny wasn't your mother and you only have the problems you have because of the abuse you suffered as a child. You had a head injury. I very much doubt you have anything in you to pass down to a kid besides gentleness and sweetness." I touched his cheek. "And beautiful eyes."

He grinned suddenly. "I didn't think about it like that. You always seem to know the best things to say. You should be a therapist. You'd have been better at it than the social carer I used to see. I don't think she cared about me at all. It was just her job."

"That's the case for a lot of people in this city. They just want the money that goes with whatever occupation they're in." I picked up my plate again. "Finish your dinner, Arthur."

We finished the pasta, Arthur clearing his plate completely. "Maybe I should eat with you more often. I don't have so much trouble eating when I'm with you." He took my plate from me and headed for the kitchen. "I'm going to do the dishes and make coffee. Put your feet up."

Smiling, I relaxed on the sofa and listened to him moving around the kitchen—running water, making the sounds of washing up, boiling the kettle, and stirring two drinks. When he returned, he put the mugs on the coffee table and sat down close enough for his thigh to rest against mine. I slid my hand into his as we drank our coffees and talked. I'd thought he would be more unsettled, coming out of Arkham after he seemed so nervous beforehand, but perhaps my presence was what helped.

"I need to go now. I'm tired." Suddenly, Arthur pulled his hand free of mine. I glanced at the clock and noticed it was almost seven o'clock.

"Okay. What time do you want to go into the city tomorrow?"

"After breakfast. Nine o'clock?"

I nodded. "Come and knock on my door when you're ready and we'll go together."

Arthur turned sideways on the sofa, almost facing me, and hesitated, then suddenly leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. I lifted my hand to his face, encouraging him to prolong the kiss. He sighed softly, closed his eyes, and caressed my lips with his for a moment. Then he drew away and stood up.

"Goodnight, Audra."

I stayed where I was as he let himself out. The day had gone better than I'd thought, and I hoped Arthur would be able to return to his life without any trouble. Hopefully, the routine of work and normal tasks would help him, and the new meds seemed to have made a big difference.

I switched on the TV and watched something for a couple of hours, although I couldn't have said what it was. My mind was on Arthur and I doubted I'd be able to think about anything else. For the past few weeks, despite his improvement in the hospital, each time I went to see him I worried, and feared things would go badly for him when he left, but now—my feelings had switched to excitement about seeing him, and imaginary scenarios of us dating. It was too soon to be thinking like that, but I couldn't help it. His goodnight kiss had shown me what he wanted. This time, I would make sure we didn't get carried away and rush into anything.

The next morning, Arthur knocked on my door and ten minutes before nine. I grabbed my coat and keys and flung the door open. He grinned brightly, half-leaned towards me, then pulled back, flushing.

"You can kiss me hello if you want to, Arthur." I smiled up at him. "You can kiss me any time you like."

He grinned again. "In that case—" He lowered his head, and peppered light kisses all over my face, finishing with one featherlight brush across my lips. I giggled and slid my hand into his as we walked to the lift.

The car stopped on the floor below and the doors slid open. Sophie stepped in, her eyes widening in surprise as she saw us holding hands. "Hey, guys. How are you, Arthur?"

"Hi, Sophie," I said.

"I'm good," Arthur nodded. "Thanks for asking."

"That's good. I'm on my way to work. What are you doing?"

"I'm going to see my old boss about starting work again," Arthur explained.

"I have a day off," I added. "I'm back to five days a week now."

"Great." Sophie smiled. "You've been worn out for weeks."

Arthur frowned. "I'm sorry, I—"

"Well, at least I got rid of that unexpected bill," I interrupted. I'd told Sophie the same thing I told Jason. "It's all good now, and we're going for coffee and cake later, aren't we, Arthur?"

He smiled again. "Coffee and cake date. Yes."

The three of us travelled on the train together, but Arthur and I got off two stops before Sophie. When we reached Ha-Ha's, Arthur's anxiety kicked in. He let go of my hand and paced up and down outside the door, raking his fingers through his hair and laughing harshly. It didn't last long, but afterwards he was breathless and unsettled, convinced that Hoyt had only said he could keep his job because I'd flirted with him, and that he would tell Arthur to go away.

"Shall I go and see him?" I offered.

"No." Arthur shook his head vigorously. "Then he'll just think I'm a big baby as well as a failure."

"You're not a failure, Arthur." I grabbed him and made him stand still, then held both of his hands in mine. "The system failed you. Hoyt understood that. I'm sure he'll be fine."

Arthur huffed out a breath. "Okay. I'm going. Do I look all right?" He was wearing his brown suit, a cream shirt, and his tan jacket over the top.

"You look nice. Just give me your hoodie."

He took it off and straightened his suit jacket. Suddenly, he marched to the door of Ha-Ha's, yanked it open, and disappeared up the stairs. Fifteen minutes later, he was back, smiling and looking much more relaxed.

"Okay?" I passed him his jacket back.

"Yes. It was like you said. He said he was sorry that my funding was cut, and I ended up in that situation. Randall has let him down on a gig tomorrow at the kids' hospital, so I'm doing that. He said I should have plenty of work—as much as I used to have—within a week. He's going to pay me weekly, too, for the first couple of months. He must have really liked you. He's never been that nice. Usually he's an arsehole."

"He was very easy for me to manipulate." I grinned. "Did he mention me?"

"He asked how 'my girlfriend' is and I said, 'she's waiting outside for me so we can go on a coffee date.' He said we should all go on a coffee date some time. I almost said something rude, but I didn't think it would be in my best interests."

"That's okay. Let him say and think what he wants. I only have eyes for you." I took his hand again. "How about we go to the coffee shop near Pogo's?" I winced as soon as I'd said it, hoping he wouldn't remember the night he tried to perform and couldn't, when we'd planned to go to the coffee shop after. But he only smiled.

"I need to go and see them, too. Maybe I can get another gig. I know I was off my meds and crazy, but that night, you know when I went on my own, it was good. Open mic nights get you noticed, but if they really like you, they pay you to do stand-up on Saturdays. I can pay you back faster, then."

"Don't push yourself too fast for that reason."

"I won't. But I've always wanted to do this. My first try was—well, I failed. My second was good. So, I'll do a Friday night again and see how it goes. If I'm awful, two out of three failures will mean I'm wasting my time. If I can do it, it's my dream and it'll mean I'm meant to do it." He continued talking about his routine as we walked to the coffee shop, and even dropped in a couple of jokes. By the time we entered the coffee shop, I was laughing.

"You're so funny, Arthur."

"I hope so." He pulled out a chair for me at a table in the corner. Then his face fell and reddened. "Oh my God, this is so embarrassing." He hiccupped out a laugh. "I haven't got any—"

"Don't worry. Coffee and cake on me. Dinner on you, when you get paid. Sit down, Arthur."

He sat. "You shouldn't be paying for me on a date."

"We're together. We share. That's what being in a relationship is about. What kind of cake would you like?" I distracted him by opening the menu. "Look, they have coffee and walnut. That's my favourite. I know you like vanilla."

"I like all of these." Arthur relaxed and chuckled. "I think I'll have caramel."

We spent an hour in the coffee shop, then went for a long walk before we headed home. After the initial anxieties, he had a good day. Hopefully, with regular therapy and the proper medication, he would have more good days than bad in the future.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The next morning I went back to work, and Arthur accompanied me on the train. The gig at the children's hospital wasn't until later, but he wanted to get to Ha-Ha's early to put on his clown suit and do his makeup, in the hopes that there might be more work for him before the hospital gig.

Arthur got off the train two stops before me, and I continued until I reached the closest stop to the shelter. As soon as I arrived, I met Jessica, the new recruit who was to replace Tammy. She was blonde and pretty, and very tall.

"I hope I'm not treading on your toes," was the first thing she said. "They said they were short-staffed when I applied, but that you were cutting your hours."

"It's okay. The person you're replacing left a gap. I did extra to fill in and because I had a bill to cover. I'm delighted to be back to my normal hours."

We got on well from the start and chattered while we prepared lunch. Jessica told me she was a teacher but had lost her job after the school she worked at closed down. I'd heard about it on the news and commiserated that she and her colleagues were out of work. "What made you choose to work here?" I asked.

"If I'm totally honest, lack of options was the main reason. I applied for everything available that I'm remotely capable of doing so I at least have a wage coming in. But I like working with people and helping them, so I'm happy to be doing this. I'd like another teaching job if one comes up, but it doesn't look hopeful if I stay in the city."

I nodded. The city's education system was falling apart with many well-off families taking their children out of schools to have private tutoring, and the poorer ones falling by the wayside when schools closed due to lack of funding.

"My husband's a teacher, too," Jessica went on. "He works at Washington College, though."

Washington was a private residential college for those who could afford the exorbitant tutoring fees, and with the many rich families on the west side of the city, there was little chance of the college ever having to close and make its staff redundant. It was well-known that the billionaire, Thomas Wayne, had already paid for a place there for his son, even though he wouldn't be old enough to attend for several years.

"Would you be able to get a job there?" I asked.

"No, I don't have the right qualifications, but I wouldn't want to. I'm too ordinary for those snobs."

"I take it your husband isn't a snob, then," I teased.

"No, he's just a good actor. What about you? Not married?"

"No, but I, um, I have a boyfriend." I couldn't help the smile that crept across my face as I thought of Arthur. I told her a little about him—only that he was a children's entertainer and stand-up comedian, and that he was sweet to me and bought me roses.

The day flew by and Jessica finished at the same time I did. Arthur was waiting outside, the hood of his tan jacket up and his hands in his pockets. It reminded me of when he'd followed me before we got to know each other properly.

"Arthur!" Immediately, he smiled brightly and shoved his hood back. I slid my hand into his and kissed his cheek. "Arthur, this is my new colleague, Jessica."

"Hello, Arthur." She offered her hand for him to shake. He took it and shook carefully.

"Hello, Jessica."

"I've heard a lot about you," she said.

His smile vanished, and he shot an anxious look at me. I squeezed his hand. "I was telling her you're a stand-up comedian."

"Oh! Oh, well, I've only done it a couple of times so far, but I'm having another go on Friday. I called them earlier," he added for my benefit.

Jessica said she'd come to a show one day, then set off home, leaving Arthur and me to walk to the station. "How did it go today?" I asked.

"It was good. I had a two-hour job this morning, sign-spinning for a store that's closing. Then the kids' hospital. Then the general hospital's cancer ward after that. I got tips, too, from the kids' hospital. Some of the parents were there and they all said how good I was with the children. Better than Randall," he said smugly. "One of them remembered me from a few weeks ago and said she hopes I'll be a regular there again from now on. I said if they let Ha-Ha's know how much they liked me I should be able to do that."

"That's great, I'm glad it went so well. And you spoke to Pogo's?"

"Yes, I reminded of them my second gig there. I'm on at seven thirty."

"I'll be there," I said at once.

"I'll try not to let you down." He bit his lip.

"Arthur, you could never let me down. Don't start to worry that it'll go wrong before you get there. You'll make yourself nervous. Think about how good you were the second time. I'm only sorry I missed it."

For the rest of the week, Arthur and I travelled to and from the city on the train together and ate dinner together in my apartment. Arthur bought a bag of groceries from his tip money and insisted I take them, given that I was making him meals every day. When he got paid on Friday, he calculated the spare money he would have until the next payday, put it in an envelope, and presented it to me as the first payment off his "loan." He marked it off in his notebook and wrote the new total due underneath. I said nothing other than "thank you," knowing he would only get upset if I argued.

After work on Friday, we ate a cold meal I'd prepared in the morning to save time. Then Arthur returned to his apartment to get ready for his appearance at Pogo's, and I changed into a plain red dress and tied my hair up. I added a touch of makeup, then waited for Arthur to come back. I repeatedly glanced at my watch, worried that he would be late, but eventually, there was a knock on the door. I opened it to find him standing there in his red suit, yellow waistcoat, and green shirt—the same outfit he'd worn on that other night. Nervously, he tugged a hand through his hair.

"Should I wear something else? I was wearing this when, you know, when I—"

"Shh." I pressed a finger to his lips. "You look good in this, and you said you were confident, too."

"That was because I was off my meds."

"Think of it as being confident because you looked so good and felt good in this nice suit. You'll be fine, Arthur."

"I hope so. I need this. I need them to think I'm good, so they'll pay me for Saturday nights."

"Please don't look at it like that." I slid my hands into his and squeezed them. His hands were ice cold. "This is what you want—to be a popular comedian. Don't think about the aspect of getting paid for it. You'll put yourself under even more pressure."

"Why are you so good to me?" Arthur sighed.

"Because I love you." My breath caught in my throat. I hadn't meant to say it then. I feared it would unsettle him too much, one way or another, and he'd be too distracted to perform. I'd intended to tell him how I felt when we were alone together, perhaps cuddling on my sofa after a nice meal.

"You—you do?" Arthur's eyes went wide, and he squeezed my hands so tightly it was almost painful. "But why?"

"You're sweet and caring and gentle. You make me laugh. You make me excited when you kiss me. You make me feel special. I love being in your company. I love you."

"Oh." A small giggle escaped Arthur's lips. "I love you too. I was scared to say so. I thought you might laugh."

"I wouldn't laugh, Arthur. I would just love to hear it."

He grinned now. "I love you," he repeated. "I love you. I love you."

"And I love you. Let's go."

We held hands as we walk to the station, Arthur's freezing hand gripping my smaller warm one, his long legs striding jauntily along so that I almost had to run to keep up. The smile didn't leave his face on the entire journey to Pogo's, and he was still smiling when he was shown where to wait for his slot.

"Are you gonna be okay?" I asked, as a member of staff hovered, waiting to show me to a seat out in the club.

"I think so." His smile wavered but didn't disappear completely. I left him, and went to sit where I was shown, to one side of the group of little tables. A member of the serving staff immediately came over to offer me a drink.

I glanced at my watch again—seven twenty-seven. Arthur would be on as soon as the current performer, who was earning plenty of laughs, finished his performance. "Please be okay," I whispered. This meant so much to him, and I knew how distraught he would be if he lost his nerve and laughed like he had the first time.

The comedian on the stage finished and moved away. A moment later the compere appeared, made a quick comment on the last performer, then cleared his throat. "Now we have a relative newcomer to the stage. You may have seen this one a few weeks ago and remembered how funny his routine was. Please put your hands together for Arthur Fleck!"

Scattered applause welcomed Arthur, as he stepped hesitantly onto the stage, his smile gone. It quickly reappeared, but was clearly forced, as he took his position behind the microphone.

"I remember him," I heard someone say. "Hilarious last time."

Arthur snorted, then coughed. His eyes took on a slight look of panic, but mercifully, he didn't break out into hysterical laughter. Instead, he began to talk, a little too fast at first, but he quickly settled into his routine. I relaxed and laughed along with the rest of the audience. So far so good.

Arthur's performance lasted fifteen minutes. He was still in full swing when the compere appeared on the stage, and he beamed with pleasure when a few groans of disappointment came from the audience at the interruption. He left the stage to a decent amount of applause. I hurried to the entrance to meet him, delighted for him.

"How did I do?" He grinned at me, then performed a few dance steps and spun around before grabbing me in a hug.

"You were amazing. Everyone was laughing."

"Well, not everyone…" He chuckled as he let me go.

"They were disappointed when you finished."

"You think I'm good enough for a Saturday night?"

Before I could answer, a suited man appeared. "I believe so. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Pogue Goacher. I own this place. And you are Arthur Fleck?"

"Y-yes." Arthur's smile froze and he fidgeted nervously.

"You performed here a few weeks ago," Pogue remembered. "Thought it was a one-off at the time as we didn't see you for a while after."

"I, um, I was—" Arthur cleared his throat and choked a little, clearly fighting laughter. "I was sick. I was in the, um, the hospital."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Better now, I trust?"

"Y-yes." He coughed again. I slid my hand into his and squeezed.

"Well, the audience obviously liked your performance. You got the most laughs we've had lately. How would you feel about a half hour slot tomorrow night?"

"Saturday?" Arthur's eyes widened and his nails dug into my hand.

"Yes. You'd be paid, of course."

"Um, well, I, um, y-yes! Yes, of course. I'd love to." Arthur pulled his hand free of mine and offered it to Pogue. "I'm sorry, I didn't greet you properly. I was, um, I was nervous."

Pogue shook his hand firmly. "No need to be, my man. How about you come along to the office? You'll need to sign a couple of things if we're going to have you on the pay roll. Tomorrow will be an introductory night, so to speak. If all goes well, we can give you a regular gig every week, early evening to start."

"Oh! That would be, um, that would be amazing!"

"I'll wait here," I said.

Arthur followed Pogue down the corridor without even glancing at me. I smiled to myself. Finally, he was getting what he always wanted. I was excited for him, and mentally marked Saturday nights at Pogo's in my diary for the foreseeable future.

Arthur appeared, bouncing on the balls of his feet, ten minutes later. He grabbed my hand and hurried me outside. "Oh my! Fuck! Oh, God, sorry, I didn't mean to say that. I can't believe it." He burst into loud laughter, then quickly stifled it. "He really liked me. He's the _owner_. The owner liked me. He's going to pay me almost as much for one gig as I get for a whole day with Ha-Ha's. I'll be able to pay you back much quicker than I hoped. I'll pay you everything I get from this straight away."

"Arthur, don't worry about that just now. Enjoy the moment," I told him.

"I'm not worried about it. I'm delighted. I don't like owing you money. And I am enjoying the moment. We'll be able to go out and do things. I can pay for the coffee and cake next time." His beaming smile slid from his face suddenly. "You do want to go out again, don't you? I didn't ask. Audra?"

"Of course I want to go out. Never doubt that." I gave his hand another firm squeeze. "I love you, Arthur."

"I love you, too." His grin returned. He stopped walking, grabbed me in a traditional dance hold, and began to waltz me around in the middle of the wet street. "I love you, Audra!" he shouted.

"Oh my God, stop, we'll get run over." Laughing, I guided the dance back to the footpath. Cars hooted as they passed, and a couple walking along the other side of the street laughed and pointed. "I didn't know you were such a good dancer, Arthur."

"I love dancing. My, um, Penny taught me to dance. We used to dance in the apartment to old records. I've never danced with anyone else."

"What a waste. Whoa!" I cried out as Arthur stopped suddenly and bent me back over his arm with a flourish. I clutched at his shoulders, and he pulled me upright, then lowered his head to plant a brief warm kiss on my lips. When he straightened up, he took my hand again and began to lead me to the station.

The way he was then, he reminded me of that night he'd come to my apartment in his red suit, with a bunch of orange roses, and things had got out of hand. A spark of excitement ran through me, but I couldn't let things get to that point again—not yet. It wouldn't do Arthur any good to rush things, and the way he was acting made me wonder if it was all exhilaration from his performance, or if he'd not been taking his medication properly. He'd barely been out of Arkham any time at all, though, so I doubted it would have such a rapid effect if he hadn't.

When we reached the apartment block and got in the lift, Arthur punched the button for my floor. My heart banged against my rib cage as we exited again and walked to my door.

"Arthur—" I paused before I got my key out.

"What's wrong? Did you lose your key?"

"Ha. No. I want to ask you something."

"Okay…" He licked his lips and fidgeted, twisting his hands together.

"You are taking your meds, aren't you?"

His eyes widened, then a wild laugh burst from him. He raised both hands and tugged his fingers through his hair. "Oh God. I'm acting weird, aren't I?" He paced in a circle and laughed some more. "I am taking them, I swear. I take them at the exact same time every morning and every evening. I'm just, I'm excited because Mr Pogo liked me. You don't like me like this, do you?" He covered his mouth with both hands as laughter overtook him.

"Arthur, I'm sorry." I went to him and rested my hands on his arms. "I just wanted to make sure, that's all. I love you happy and confident. I love you however you are. So long as you're okay, that's all that matters."

Gradually, his laughter subsided into gasps. He lowered his hands and took a deep breath. "I won't get like I was that night again. That wasn't me. Well, it was me, but it wasn't a nice me. I think I should go home now."

"Okay." I leaned in and kissed his cheek. "I'm working tomorrow, but I'll see you in the evening for dinner as usual. Then we'll go to Pogo's."

"Let's hope it goes as well as tonight did." He gave me a small smile, returned my kiss, and walked back to the lift.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The next evening, I made dinner as usual, but there was no sign of Arthur. When fifteen minutes had passed beyond his usual time for knocking on my door, I called him, fearing he may have lost his nerve. The phone rang several times before he eventually picked it up.

"Arthur, are you okay?" I asked.

"Yes! I'm sorry, I was ironing my shirt. I had to wash it after yesterday."

"Don't you have other shirts?"

"I like the green one. I want to wear the same outfit tonight. I feel good in it. I don't want to fail because I'm wearing different clothes."

"Okay. I'll see you soon." I didn't argue with him about that. The red suit, golden waistcoat, and green shirt clearly helped him feel confident.

Five minutes later he was at my door, looking as dashing as before in the outfit. We ate the meal I'd made, although Arthur's slow eating only gave him enough time to eat half of his.

"I'm not really hungry. I'm too nervous," he confessed. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. We can always get something else after your show." I took the plates away and headed for my room. "I just need to get changed."

I put on my only other nice dress—a black one with lace sleeves. I wasn't used to having occasions where dressing up was required. Pogo's wasn't a club that had a dress code, but I didn't want to show Arthur up by wearing a casual outfit when he was so smart, and when this night was so important to him. I even put on the dreaded high heels, hoping it wasn't icy out, or I'd probably end up on my arse in the gutter.

At Pogo's, I sat at the same table I'd occupied the previous night. There wasn't long to wait—only ten minutes before Arthur's allotted time. After he'd spent the journey there fidgeting and laughing at intervals, I worried his anxiety would get the better of him, even though last night had gone so well. Perhaps signing a contract and getting paid to do this would make a difference, but when he was introduced by the compere, he strode onto the stage with confidence and took his place behind the microphone.

During Arthur's performance, everyone laughed most of the time. I glanced around at the other tables, unable to see everyone in the gloom, but those I could see were laughing and clapping. Those at the far side could be heard, adding their sounds of approval to the crowd. They loved Arthur and his quirky jokes, some of which he made up based on himself and his issues.

When I met him afterwards, he was grinning widely, and held an envelope in one hand. "Mr Pogo paid me," he said proudly. "He was watching from the side of the stage. I'm surprised I didn't forget all my jokes and laugh; I was so nervous." He tucked the envelope into the inside pocket of his jacket, then grasped my hand. "What shall we do now? Coffee and cake? Or how about—?" He paused. "You like wine, don't you? We had some at the Chinese restaurant."

"I like wine," I confirmed.

"Let's go there." He pointed across the street to a wine bar I'd never been to but knew by reputation. It was classy, served wine and cocktails, and had a piano player entertaining the patrons. We crossed the street, me clinging to Arthur's arm to keep my balance on the light scattering of snow in my stupid high heels. A doorman opened the door for us and offered to take our coats. Arthur kept his jacket on, but I handed over my heavy coat.

As we walked to the bar a couple of men stared at me, one with an obvious leering expression. I ignored it, but Arthur scowled and gritted his teeth. I gripped his hand and squeezed. "Take no notice," I said quietly. "I'm with you. You're the only one who has my attention."

He relaxed a little. "I shouldn't be surprised they're looking. You're beautiful." Suddenly, he grinned. "And you're with me. All they can do is look. What would you like to drink?"

"White wine, please."

Arthur ordered two glasses of white wine, and we found a small table to sit at in a corner. The pianist was in full swing, playing jazz-style tunes. Three couples danced on the small dancefloor to one side. We sipped our wine and watched, Arthur tapping the toe of one foot. By the time we finished our drinks, two of the couples had sat down.

"Do you want to?" Arthur indicated the dancefloor and smiled shyly.

"Sure, I'd love to."

He got up and offered me his hand like a gentleman—a little old-fashioned maybe, but I loved it. We stepped onto the small floor and began to dance to the jaunty music, a far cry from our quick waltz in the street. Arthur was an amazing dancer, and led me through the steps when I faltered, unsure of the footwork.

We continued dancing through four tunes before I sat down, and Arthur went back to the bar for some more wine and a dish of mixed nuts. We stayed in the bar another hour, then Arthur retrieved my coat and we headed out into the cold. A light shower of snow fell as we hurried to the station to catch a train home.

The smile didn't leave Arthur's face from the moment he'd realised he had me, and the other men looking at me couldn't have me. He looked happy the entire time we sat in the bar and danced, and even as we skirted the piles of garbage at the side of the street on the way to the station. He was still smiling when we had to walk up the stairs because the lift at the apartment block had broken again. He climbed the extra flights to my floor and walked me to my door.

"Would you like to come in for coffee?" I offered. My heart raced as I remembered the last time we'd had a proper date and he'd come in for coffee. I wanted more, but I wasn't sure he would be ready for it. Perhaps he'd kiss me, though. He hadn't all evening, and I longed to kiss him.

"Yes, please."

I hung up my coat in the hall, and Arthur hooked his jacket onto the peg beside it. He sat in the living room while I made coffee, and when I joined him, I sat beside him on the sofa. His smile had slipped a little, and his knee bounced as he began to look agitated. He put his coffee mug down to avoid spilling the contents. I slid my hand into his.

"What's wrong, Arthur?"

"Nothing," he said too quickly, and licked his lips. I knew he was remembering the aftermath of our last date, the same way I was. I caught a glimpse of the bulge in his pants before he rested his arm across his lap. "Can I kiss you?"

"Of course you can." I let go of his hand and touched his arm, ran my fingers up and down the silky material of his shirt sleeve.

"I don't want things to go wrong this time."

"They won't. I love you, Arthur. You have nothing to worry about."

"I love you too. That's why I don't want to spoil it." He turned towards me at last and cupped my face, then slowly leaned closer until our lips met. His kiss was sweet and gentle, his lips caressing mine, the tip of his tongue teasing until I pressed more firmly against his mouth to encourage him to deepen it.

He hummed with pleasure as he kissed me more heatedly and slid his arms around me to pull me closer. My pulse quickened and I felt the kiss everywhere, my body tingling with excitement just as it had the first time. I longed to touch him; to unfasten his shirt and slip my hands inside; to encourage him to lie down with me; but I only touched his neck and stroked his hair.

Eventually, he broke the kiss, his lips red and glistening, his breathing fast and uneven. "Can we, um, can we—?" Colour crept over his cheeks.

"You want to lie down with me?" I whispered.

"Mm. Yes." He leaned over to unfasten his shoes and slid them off.

My sofa was long and wide, and offered plenty of room for us to lie down facing each other, our heads on a cushion. I rested my hand on Arthur's chest and felt his rapid heartbeat keeping time with mine. He ran his fingers through my hair, then placed his hand on my waist.

"I don't want to spoil things," he said again.

"You won't. Whatever you want, I want too. We can just lie here and kiss and cuddle if you want to. Of you can touch me, or I can touch you. Don't worry about it. Don't think too much. Just do what feels right for you."

"You're amazing. You know all the right things to say." Arthur's smile returned. He slid his arms around me and pulled me against him. We shuffled our legs around until we found a comfortable position with one of his knees between mine. His erection nudged my hip and he moved his lower body away.

"It's okay," I murmured. I slipped my arm around his waist and guided him closer again. He groaned as his groin came into contact with me. "Kiss me again," I encouraged.

His mouth covered mine, less hesitant this time. He crushed his lips against mine and thrust in with his tongue, reminding me of his heated kisses all those weeks ago. I doubted this night would end the same way and I knew I should discourage him from rushing it again, but I longed to be in bed with him, without several layers of clothing separating us.

Arthur pulled his lips from mine to suck in a breath, then lowered his face to my neck and nibbled the skin below my ear. I shivered and rolled my head back as he nipped the sensitive spot, then made his way down the side of my neck to my collarbone. I ran my hands up and down his back, encouraging him as he rocked his lower body against mine. A slight movement of my hips, and his trapped erection pressed against me in just the right place. I slid my leg up over his and held him tighter. He continued to buck gently, rubbing our groins together and emitting soft grunts of pleasure. He lowered his hand from my waist and cupped my butt through my dress. Another minute of grinding against each other, and his body shuddered to a halt as he came. Rather than wrench away from me in a panic, he pressed his face into my neck and snatched his hand from my arse.

"Hell. I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean—I got carried away again."

"It's okay to get carried away." I stroked my hand over his hair. "You liked it, right?"

"Yes."

"I did, too. I know this is all new to you, but trust me, I want it just as much as you do. I love being with you like this. Whatever you want to do with me is okay."

He lifted his head and met my eyes. "I really didn't hurt you that other time?"

"No. I loved it. I love you."

"I love you, too." He smiled again. "I'm not very good at this. I never had anyone to talk to about this stuff. I only know what I've seen on the TV or videos. I don't want to be a disappointment."

"You could never disappoint me, Arthur. Let's just take it one step at a time, okay?"

"Okay." Slowly, he pulled away and sat up. "I think I should go now. Do you want to have breakfast with me tomorrow?"

"I'd love to. I'm not working."

"I am, but not until the afternoon. Will you come to my apartment? I'll make breakfast."

"Sure, I'd love that." I got up and he put his shoes back on. I fetched his jacket for him, and he put it on, then pulled the envelope from the inside pocket.

"I forgot. This is for you. I only bought wine out of it."

"You don't have to do that," I protested.

"Yes, I do. I promised. I want to pay back what you spent helping me as soon as I can. I won't feel right about it otherwise."

"All right. Thank you." I took the envelope, then returned his kiss before he went to the door. "I'll see you in the morning. What time?"

"Eight?"

I nodded. "Goodnight, Arthur."

He let himself out and I locked the door after him.

The next morning, I was at Arthur's door at exactly eight o'clock, knocking for the third time after he didn't answer my first two attempts. I tried the door, but it was locked, and I started to worry, unable to get the image out of my mind of him lying on the couch bleeding almost to death. Suddenly, the door opened.

"Arthur!" It was obvious something was wrong. He was still wearing his pyjama pants and a T-shirt, hair unbrushed, and a shadow of stubble on his jaw. His eyes were dark and sad, his mouth turned down at the corners. "Arthur, what's wrong?" I slipped through the door and closed it behind me.

He shrugged and turned away to lead me into the living room. "Nothing. Just a bad day." He sat down on the sofa on a rumpled blanket, where he had apparently slept.

"Didn't you go to bed last night?"

"No."

I sat beside him and took his hand. "Are you upset about last night?"

"No." He shook his head to emphasise it. "I'm sorry. It's just a bad day. I'll be all right."

"Have you taken your meds?"

"Yes." He sighed heavily. "I'm sorry I didn't make breakfast."

"Don't worry about that. Don't your meds help these feelings at all?"

"They do, but nothing makes them go away completely." He pulled his hand free of mine and sunk his head into his hands. "I'm sorry you have to see me like this."

"Don't apologise to me, Arthur. I love you. That means I'm here for you whether things are good or bad. Do you want me to make breakfast? Or would you rather be alone?"

"Don't go." Slowly, he pulled his legs up onto the sofa and curled up on his side with his head in my lap. "Don't go," he repeated.

"I won't go." I pulled the blanket over him, and rested my hand on his head, lightly stroking his hair. I hated to see him so miserable, but I knew I couldn't fix it. I could only let him know I was there. Tears slid down his face and made my jeans damp. Eventually, he fell asleep.

I looked around the room and spotted a book on the table, just within reach. I grabbed it and read for a while as Arthur slept. An hour passed, then he opened his eyes and quickly jerked upright. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "I'm sorry I'm such a waste of time."

"Don't say that." I put the book down and rested my hand on his knee. "You can't help feeling like this. It's an illness. Don't ever think of yourself as a waste of anyone's time. I love you, Arthur."

"What did I do to deserve you? It must have been something good." He sighed and forced his trembling lips to smile. "I need a shower. What time is it?"

"Almost ten. Shall I make some coffee?"

"Yes, please." He gathered up the blanket and shuffled out of the room.

I busied myself in the kitchen making coffee and toast. Fifteen minutes later, Arthur appeared wearing a shirt, pants, and a sweater, his hair wet from the shower and his face clean-shaven. He drank his coffee and ate one piece of toast, silent and sad. I didn't try to make conversation but ate my own breakfast. When I put my plate down, Arthur suddenly moved closer to my side and slid his arm around my shoulders.

"I love you," he said. "Thank you. I'll be better tomorrow."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

I stayed with Arthur until he had to go to work. It was a single children's party and he wasn't required to go to his workplace first, so he put on his clown outfit and his face paint in the apartment. I watched him paint his face white, then add the blue diamonds around his eyes, and the huge red smile that made him look happy, even though his eyes were still filled with despair. He had a new green checked jacket to replace the one he'd lost on the train when the three morons attacked him.

I gave him a hug at the door as he locked up, and he promised to call when he got home. He did call, but his voice on the phone was quiet and sad. The party had gone well, and he got a tip in addition to his fee, but he didn't feel any better. He told me he would go to bed and sleep.

I felt sad for him. I fretted and worried, and wished I could be with him even though I couldn't do anything to help. But he probably needed his own space. When I was down, I didn't like interacting with anyone else and even if he'd been okay and he didn't suffer like this, I wouldn't have wanted him to see me wallowing. I hadn't for quite some time, but those feelings lingered in the background, waiting to pounce without warning. Arthur's situation was much worse than mine. I left him alone and went to see Sophie in the evening.

The next morning, my phone rang at six thirty. I ran from the shower, wrapped in a towel and dripping, to grab it.

"Arthur?"

"How did you know it's me?"

"I hoped it was. I don't get many calls."

"I'm sorry if I woke you up."

"You didn't. I was in the shower, getting ready for work. Are you okay?"

"Yes. Would you like to come down for breakfast? I ruined yesterday."

"You didn't ruin anything," I told him. "You can't help feeling bad sometimes, Arthur. Don't worry about it."

"I suffered for it. Taking my meds without food makes my stomach hurt. But I'm fine now."

"I'll be ten minutes. I just need to get dressed."

Arthur chuckled, much to my surprise. Then he cleared his throat, and I imagined his cheeks reddening. I risked teasing him.

"What are you thinking about, Arthur? Me all wet in a towel?"

"Yes," he whispered. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. You can think however you like about me."

"If you knew what I think about, it would make you blush." He coughed.

"I'm sure it's not very different to what I think about. I'll be with you in ten minutes."

I hurried to dry off and get dressed for work. When I reached Arthur's door, it was open and he was leaning on the jamb waiting for me, wearing a cream shirt and blue trousers. He smiled and his eyes lit up.

"Hello, Audra. You look lovely."

"I'm in my coat and my hair's wet. I hurried," I said.

"You look lovely whatever you wear." He tugged me inside and closed the door. A moment later, his lips were on mine. He was definitely feeling better. He broke the kiss briefly to say, "Let's take this off," as he began undoing my coat buttons. Then his lips returned to mine and he thrust in with his tongue.

The heated welcome surprised and delighted me. I let my bag and coat fall to the floor, before Arthur shuffled us into the living room, still kissing me and holding me tight against him. His erection was unmistakeable, nudging my thigh through our clothes. A vision of us waking up together one morning came into my head—waking up together in his bed or mine, naked, instantly moving into each other's arms to kiss and make love.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," Arthur gasped, suddenly pressing his face into my neck. "You need to go to work."

"I have plenty of time. I'm enjoying this warm welcome." I ran my hands up and down his back.

"Still, we should stop, or I'll need another shower." He laughed and flushed. "I was going to make breakfast. Can we pick this up again later?"

"Definitely." I grinned and smoothed down my damp hair. "What's for breakfast?"

"Eggs. How do you like them?"

"Any way you like them."

"Okay." He released me and backed away, then flushed scarlet and shoved his hands into his pockets to disguise the impressive bulge in his pants. He coughed, turned around, and shot into the kitchen. I giggled and retrieved my coat and bag from the hall floor.

Arthur made scrambled eggs—creamy and buttery, well-seasoned and with chives added—with toast and coffee. We ate with the plates on our laps in the living room. As delicious as the food was, I was distracted by him sitting close beside me, our passionate kisses in the forefront of my mind. I wanted more, and from the way he repeatedly glanced at me, his face flushed as he picked at his food, I guessed he was thinking the same thing. If only we didn't have to go to work.

But unfortunately, time was marching on. Far too soon we had to leave the apartment and make our way down the endless steps towards the station. Arthur held my hand as we walked, and talked about ordering some takeaway food later so we could relax and not have to make anything. He invited himself to my apartment, convinced my place was nicer and cleaner than his. Would tonight be the night?

I thought about it all day, distracted enough that both Jason and Jessica asked me if I was okay. Jessica didn't look convinced by my simple answer of "Fine," but she didn't ask until we left for the day.

"So, what's on your mind?" she said as we walked away from the building. "Arthur, by any chance?"

I grinned. "What gives you that idea?"

"Other than you barely hearing a word Jason or I said all day? Smiling to yourself and trying not to? Sparkly eyes?"

"I wasn't that bad." My face warmed.

"You were, and now you're blushing, too."

"Shut up." I elbowed her. "Let's just say things are going well."

We parted company after a few minutes and headed off in different directions. Arthur had said that morning he had several jobs and wouldn't be travelling home until later, so I took the train on my own. When I got back, I did some cleaning, changed my bedding just in case, and took another shower. Laughing at myself, I tried on four outfits before I settled on dark green culottes and a simple white long-sleeved T-shirt. Arthur arrived just before seven, in a different outfit and with damp hair as if he'd showered, too. He passed me a brown paper bag, its shape telling me it held a bottle.

"Thank you, Arthur." I took out the bottle and discovered dry white wine—my favourite. "I'll put it in the fridge to chill."

He followed me into the kitchen, and after I closed the fridge door, I turned around to find him right behind me. He slid his arms around me and kissed the tip of my nose. "That's a really small refrigerator."

I laughed. "And here was me, thinking you were going to say something romantic."

"I'm sorry. It just reminded me of something." His face fell and his eyes took on that lost expression he often got.

"Arthur, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, really. I'm sorry," he repeated. He made to pull away, but I wrapped my arms around his waist and held him tight.

"What is it about the fridge?"

"Just that after my mother died, I got in mine."

"You got in the fridge?" My eyes widened in shock.

"I wanted to escape. Shut myself off from everything."

"You could have passed out. Died in there."

"I didn't. I'm sorry I told you that. I didn't want to spoil the evening. I just remembered it, that's all. Maybe you think I should still be in Arkham." He barked out a laugh, then tugged free of my arms and covered his mouth with both hands to stifle it.

"It's okay, Arthur. You haven't spoilt anything. I want to know about these things. I want to understand. I love you, Arthur. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes," he gasped. His laughter subsided. "I love you, too. I still don't think I deserve you."

"I think we're good for each other." I took his hand. "You make me happy, Arthur. You make me feel special, and you're a gentleman."

Suddenly, he smiled again. "I wasn't very much of a gentleman this morning. Especially not in my head."

"Well, I wasn't very much of a lady in my head this morning, either. Or all day, in fact." I giggled. "Shall we order some food? Relax for a while and have some of that wine?"

"Okay."

We ordered Thai food. Arthur had never tried that either but discovered some of it was similar to the Chinese meals we'd had. I put on a record to listen to while we ate and drank the wine. Arthur cleared away the plates and I finished the last glass, feeling pleasantly warm and fuzzy from the alcohol. When he returned, he looked nervous again, wiping his hands on his trouser legs, eyes darting about and not meeting mine. I caught his hand and drew him down beside me on the sofa.

"Do you, um, do you want some coffee? I could make some?"

"I don't want coffee, Arthur. I want you to kiss me," I said softly. "There's no need to be nervous."

"I'm not nervous about kissing. I'm nervous about what comes after the kissing. I don't want to mess it up."

"You won't." I touched his face and made him look at me. "There's no rush. If we only kiss and do what we did the other night, that's okay."

He licked his lips, then covered my hand with his, where it rested on his cheek. "You're so patient. I don't feel patient at all, but I don't want to be like I was when I was off my meds."

"You won't be." I leaned in closer and pressed my lips to his. "Don't think so much. Just go with what you feel."

He lifted his hands and ran his fingers through my hair, combing the strands and smoothing it around my shoulders. "I love your hair. It's like silk." He moved closer and kissed me, a light brush of lips at first, before he deepened it and slid his arms around me. I rested my hand on his chest, feeling the rapid thundering of his heart under my palm. A rush of heat filled me as his lips caressed mine, his tongue emerging to explore, suddenly as eager as he had been that morning. His hands roamed over my back, tracing the shape of my shoulder blades, running up and down my spine. He broke the kiss and lowered his face to my neck to nibble at my collarbone. Slowly, he pulled the bottom of my T-shirt free of my waistband.

"You want to take it off?" I whispered.

"Yes. Can I?"

"Sure." I put my arms up as he pulled the garment up and off, then tossed it aside. Underneath, I was wearing my newest, prettiest white silk bra with lace trimmings. Most of my underwear was plain and functional, but I kept a couple of nice sets in case an occasion called for them. Arthur traced the strap from my shoulder down to the cup with one finger, then followed it around over the top of my breast. He had probably never seen a woman in her bra for real. That time we'd had sex, we hadn't taken any clothes off.

I glanced down, noting the bulge in Arthur's trousers. I longed to touch him, but I didn't want to rush things, or make him more nervous. I rested my hand on his knee instead, and slowly stroked the lower part of his thigh.

"You're so pretty," he breathed. Carefully, he cupped my breasts in his hands and ran his thumbs over the silk-covered flesh. The touch was so light as to be barely there, but watching his fingers gently touching me excited me so much. My nipples stiffened under the soft fabric, and heat spread between my legs. I squirmed, unable to stop myself remembering how he felt inside me—long and thick and hot.

"God, Arthur," I groaned.

His hands froze. "Shall I stop?"

"No. Please don't. I love you touching me."

"Shall we lie down?"

I met his eyes. "Do you want to lie down on my bed instead? It'll be more comfortable."

His pupils widened, and he licked his lips, nervous, then nodded. "Yes, that would be good."

"Come on." I stood and grasped his hand, tugging him up. Silently, he followed me into my bedroom. Tempted as I was to throw off the rest of my clothes, I sat on the bed still wearing my culottes and bra and waited for him to let me know he wanted to move things forward.

Hesitantly, he unfastened a couple of shirt buttons with trembling hands, then stopped and pulled the fabric closed over his chest. "I'm not nice to look at. Not like you."

"I have seen you, Arthur." I tried not to dwell on the image of him curled up on the couch in his underwear, bleeding. "You have nothing to worry about, but if it makes you feel more comfortable, you can keep it on."

"Um, well, I guess…" Reddening, he unfastened the rest of the buttons, took off the shirt, and laid it neatly on the chair in the corner of the room. His ribcage wasn't quite so pronounced as when I'd last seen him without a shirt, and it pleased me to see he was obviously eating better, even when we didn't dine together.

"You look good, Arthur. Healthy. Come and sit down with me."

He sat on the edge of the bed, half-facing me, knees bumping mine. "I'm not very good at this."

"You're doing fine." I took his hand and squeezed it. "Just do what feels right."

"I want to—" He flushed deeper. "I want to see you."

"Lie down." I let go of his hand and stood up. He crawled into the middle of the bed and lay down on his side, head resting on my pillow. I unfastened the culottes and let them fall to the ground, leaving me clad in only the bra and matching panties. "Is this better?"

He grinned suddenly. "More. If you don't mind."

"I don't mind." I reached behind to unclip my bra, not missing Arthur's sharp intake of breath as it fell away, leaving my breasts uncovered. I dropped it on the floor and indicated the last garment. "On or off?"

"O-off. Please."

I slid my thumbs into the sides of the scrap of silk, lowered them quickly, and stepped out of them. Then I joined Arthur on the bed, resting on my side facing him, a small gap between us.

"So beautiful," Arthur whispered. His eyes darted about, drinking all of me in, occasionally licking his lips as if he were viewing a particularly appetising feast. I stayed silent and let him look. Whatever happened next was all about what he wanted, however impatient I might be for the next step.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Arthur gazed at me for a long moment, then lifted his hand and ran his fingers lightly down my arm from shoulder to wrist. I tore my eyes away from his face and watched his hand instead. He paused, before brushing his fingertips over my hip, around my waist, across my stomach and ribs. Goosebumps broke out on my skin and a shiver ran down my spine. Even though he wasn't touching me intimately, watching and feeling him explore so carefully was incredibly arousing. My breathing quickened, and my breasts heaved with each breath. Arthur seemed fascinated by them, his gaze fixed on them as he slowly moved his hand upwards and brushed the back of his fingers along the underside of one. He breathed out rapidly, then sucked in another gulp of air.

"Is this okay?" he whispered.

"It's more than okay. Anything you want to do is more than okay."

He turned his hand around and cupped my breast, rubbed his thumb over the nipple, then pinched it gently. Glancing down, I noticed his obvious erection twitch inside his clothes. I curled my hand into a loose fist to stop myself reaching out to touch him.

"You'll have to tell me or show me what you like. That other time, I only took what I wanted and then ran away."

"I like what you're doing. I love the way you touch me, Arthur."

"What about—?" He slid his hand down from my breast to just below the slight swell of my stomach. "What about down here?"

"You can touch there." I lifted my knee to give him access.

He let out a shaky breath, then breathed in again hard. I watched his fingers slide lower, through my well-trimmed patch of hair and into soft wet flesh. I was the one to release a shaky breath as he brushed over the most sensitive part of me. "Is this—?"

"That's perfect. Right there."

He grinned. "Close your eyes."

I did so, which immediately heightened the sense of touch. Arthur's gentle exploration became more confident when he discovered, from my squirming and gasping, what felt good. I'd had several lovers, but none of them had concentrated so determinedly on giving me pleasure, without a care for their own. I cried out his name as I came, and my eyes flew open to find him inches away, studying my face.

"You're even more pretty when you come."

"You're amazing," I breathed.

"I, um, I—" He looked down and fumbled his trousers undone, at last. He pulled out his erection, thick and glistening with precome. "Can I—? Will you—?" He stroked himself hesitantly, biting his lip. "God, I'm so—"

"Let me." I pushed his hand off and replaced it with mine. "Close your eyes, Arthur."

I wanted to do everything. When he had rushed things that first time, now I wanted to rush. I wanted to take him in my mouth, to taste him, to pull him on top of me and guide him into me. But instead I stroked him off, firm quick pulls until he shot his load into my hand and on the bed covers between us. I leaned over to kiss him lightly, then grabbed some tissues to clean up while he lay there panting, eyes closed.

I got up and turned off the light. "Do you want to get under the covers, Arthur?"

"Oh. Yes, I-I'd like that." He rose quickly and I slid into the bed as he removed trousers, underwear and socks, then joined me. Less hesitant than before, he moved close and slid his arms around me, drawing me against his naked body.

We lay together, cuddling, idly stroking each other's hair, backs, arms—whatever we could reach. I discovered Arthur enjoyed chaste touches as much as I did. His skin pebbled beneath my fingers, his spine twitching when I stroked a particularly sensitive spot, his neck and shoulders quivering when I touched his hair and dragged my nails over his scalp. We were like a pair of cats, arching and writhing, almost purring with delight. Arthur's softened cock twitched against my leg, interested again but not fully hard. We exchanged gentle kisses, loving but without the heat of earlier. My eyelids grew heavy, and Arthur's hand slowed its stroking on my back.

"Do you want to sleep here?" I murmured.

"Yes, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind." I tucked my face into his neck and relaxed. The night couldn't have been more perfect.

When I opened my eyes it was still dark, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. The sun didn't rise until after seven. Arthur still slept, his breathing deep and even, one arm draped across my waist. I reached for my watch to check the time and discovered it wasn't yet six. Carefully, I slid away from him and went to use the bathroom and clean my teeth.

I returned to the bed and when I slipped between the covers, Arthur suddenly opened his eyes, the glint of them just visible in the darkness. He tugged me close to him again, and his erection nudged my stomach. Rather than jump away, or apologise, he merely brushed his lips over mine and rocked his hips a little, rubbing himself against me.

"Oh, you're very awake all of a sudden," I teased.

"I wasn't sure if I was dreaming. This isn't something that happens to me in real life."

"It is now. I can assure you, it's not a dream."

He pressed his lips to mine again, ran his tongue along my lip, then pulled back. "You taste minty."

"I brushed my teeth."

"I should, um—"

"You're fine." His morning breath wasn't at all bad. I kissed him again. "If this was a dream, what do you think would happen next?"

He smiled. "I could show you?"

"I would like that."

Much to my surprise, he rolled me onto my back and lowered himself onto me. I slid my legs apart a little and he pressed between them, pushing them wider to accommodate him. His cock rested in the crease between my raised thigh and the side of my stomach. He hummed with pleasure and rubbed himself back and forth a little.

"In my dream, I'd be, um, inside you."

"That would be in my dream, too." I held him close, my hands resting at the bottom of his back.

"Are you sure you want that?"

"I'm sure, Arthur. I want you."

"I need to be sure you do. Will you do it?" He lifted himself off me a little, enough for me to get my hand between us. I reached down and grasped him, stroked a little until he gasped and shivered. Then I guided him, tilting my hips up until he slid smoothly inside. We both moaned at the same time as he filled me. I put my arm around him again and pulled my knees up more.

"This is what I want, Arthur."

"Oh, God." He began to move, slowly and awkwardly at first. Then suddenly he found his rhythm and thrust into me harder, his pace quickening as he raced towards orgasm. His hair fell into his face, and my hands on his back slipped on his sweat-slick skin. I moved with him, delighted, until it was over all too quickly, his body jerking and shuddering as he came inside me. "I'm sorry. I wanted to last longer." He grinned sheepishly.

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. But I haven't finished yet." He propped himself up a little more and slid his hand between us. He was still hard, still deep in me, as he began to stroke me the same way he had before we went to sleep. He knew now, what I liked, and with the feel of him still filling me, it didn't take very long.

"Oh my God, Arthur!" I writhed beneath him as waves of pleasure crashed through me. When he stopped and slipped out of me, he didn't move away, but stayed above me, taking his weight on knees and elbows, his lips an inch away from mine. "That was perfect," I whispered.

"I wouldn't go that far. I'm sure your other lovers were much better."

"No. Experienced, maybe. Considerate? Definitely not. You are amazing, Arthur. I love you."

"You are amazing, too, Audra. I never imagined I could have someone like you in my life, even as a friend. Much less like this. I'm glad I can make you happy this way."

"You definitely do that." I lifted my head to press my lips to his.

"I love you," he whispered, then pulled away and sat up. "I should go. I'll need to take my meds soon, and I have to have food with them."

"I know." I sat up. "Would you like to shower with me first? Then I'll come with you and we can have breakfast together." I didn't want to let him go just yet, but besides that, a tiny part of me feared he might leave, then start worrying about how I felt and panic.

He met my eyes. "You're worried I'll hurt myself again." Suddenly, he grinned. "I won't. I feel happy today. I never felt happy in my life before I met you. Now I do at least half the time. But I'd still like to shower with you. That's another first for me. Could I just have a minute first?"

I left him alone until I heard the toilet flush and he opened the door. Then I pulled the shower curtain across the side of the bath and turned on the water to get hot. When I stepped under it, Arthur joined me and stood silently half under the water, hands at his sides as if he didn't know what to do with them. I poured some shampoo into my hand and reached up to wash his hair. A smile lifted his lips at the corners, and he closed his eyes as I massaged his scalp. After I rinsed his hair, I repeated the process with conditioner. He sighed with pleasure as I moved onto the soap and began washing his chest. As I worked my way lower, his softened penis grew again and nudged my stomach, begging for attention. I lingered as I washed it, then encouraged him to turn around so I could wash his back.

"Now it's your turn," he said, as the last of the soap ran down his body and into the drain. He took his time, washing my hair the way I had his, then working his way over every inch of my body. Never had a shower been so sensual. I wanted to drag him back to bed, but we both needed to get ready for work.

Reluctantly, I turned off the water, grabbed two towels and passed one to Arthur. We dried off quickly, then I found fresh clothes and Arthur put on yesterday's. I locked up and we went to his apartment. He changed clothes while I made coffee and started on breakfast. We ate together and Arthur took his meds.

"What jobs do you have today?" I asked him.

"Children's hospital again. Two different wards. Then sign-spinning for a clothes store. So many stores are closing down. It's a shame for them, but it gives me plenty to do."

"Are you going to the office first?" I asked.

"Yes. We can get the train together." He put the breakfast dishes in the sink, then drew me into his arms. "Will it always be like this? I worry you'll get tired of me."

"That won't happen. I love you, Arthur." I returned his hug, holding on tight. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You might meet someone better than me. Someone normal."

"Arthur, everyone has some kind of problem. No one is 'normal,' as you put it. But I certainly won't find someone better than you. You're everything I would want in a man."

"Really?" He smiled, his hesitant smile with his lips together.

"Really. So don't think otherwise."

We took the train together and parted to go to our respective jobs. We were due to finish about the same time and I thought Arthur might come and meet me, but when I left the shelter, there was no sign of him. Perhaps his last job had held him up. I hurried to the station and caught the train home. It was only when I reached my stop and climbed down to the platform, that I had the sensation of being watched. I looked around me, but I didn't see Arthur anywhere. Smiling to myself, I walked the rest of the way home. I didn't bother turning around, but I knew I was being followed. I wasn't sure why Arthur felt the need to do that now, but I didn't question it.

I rode up in the lift alone and went back to my apartment. I expected Arthur to arrive shortly after, but he didn't. I tried calling him, but he didn't answer the phone. Strange. I got changed, did some housework, listened to some music, and started making myself something to eat. Then my doorbell rang. When I opened the door, Arthur stood outside holding a bouquet of red roses.

"These are for you. Red for romance." He flushed almost to the colour of the blooms and laughed in an embarrassed way.

"Oh, Arthur. They're beautiful. Come in."

He placed the bouquet in my arms and stepped past me into the hallway. "I finished later than I expected. The clothing store wanted me to stay until they closed for the day. I was going to meet you at the shelter, but I didn't leave the office until almost six."

I frowned. If Arthur was still at the store until five, then his office until six, he couldn't have followed me. I'd been home by three. I still had to be sure.

"So, you didn't follow me earlier?"

"No." His smile slipped, and he shook his head vigorously to emphasise it. "I wouldn't do that now. I can see why that would be creepy."

"Someone followed me." I led him into the kitchen and found a vase for the roses. "I felt like I was being followed when I got off the train. I didn't worry about it. I thought it was you."

"You didn't see anyone?" Arthur's eyes widened in alarm.

"No."

"Maybe it could be someone who lives in the block?"

"Probably." I stepped into his arms and kissed him. I wasn't convinced it was either my imagination, or a neighbour heading the same way. I was sure someone had followed me on purpose, and if it wasn't Arthur, who could it be?


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

For the rest of the week, most of Arthur's routine coincided with mine. We travelled into the city together, and he met me outside the shelter before we took the train home. Either he or I cooked dinner, and we slept in my bed. Sometimes we did just that—put on pyjamas and slept in each other's arms.

Arthur wasn't always happy. Just because we were in the place we were together and he was becoming more confident in my feelings for him, it didn't mean it was a magic cure for his depression and dark moods. But at my encouragement, assuring him that him being silent and unsociable didn't upset me, he still stayed with me.

Other times, he would be livelier, more loving, and definitely sexier. He became more confident in the bedroom, too, and never failed to pleasure me, mostly before he had his own fun. I only fell more in love with him and imagined one day in the future we may have no need for two apartments anymore.

I didn't get the feeling of being watched or followed again that week, but on Sunday when Arthur worked and I didn't, I went into the city to buy a few things and was sure I was being observed. The feeling persisted as I took the train home and trudged up the endless steps. Several times I spun around, but I never saw anyone. As I got in the lift and the doors closed, I tried to shake off the feeling. I got out at Arthur's floor and went to visit Sophie. I hadn't seen her all week, too wrapped up in Arthur to have time for anyone else.

"So, how's it going?" She smirked and winked.

"It's going great."

"I've hardly seen him this week. Has he been at yours?"

"Only every night." I giggled.

"It must be love."

"Yes, I love him. He's everything I would want in a man."

"Really?" Sophie wrinkled her nose.

"I know you don't like him."

"It's not really that. Before you got to know him, I just thought he was weird and creepy. I could hear him laughing all the way down the corridor. Not so much now, since you two started dating. He's not really my cup of tea, even without that."

"Well, that's a good thing. I don't want competition," I teased.

We talked about other things besides Arthur, but as I left, Sophie joked that I'd mentioned his name at least a couple of hundred times and I was clearly "obsessed." I was about to open the door and leave, when the bell rang.

"I bet that's him, looking for you." Sophie smiled.

"Maybe." I opened the door eagerly, and found myself staring up at Paul, my ex. My smile left my face in an instant. "What are you doing here?"

"Who is this?" Sophie asked behind me.

"Can I come in?" Paul raised an eyebrow.

"I don't live here. This is my friend's house. He's my ex," I added for Sophie's benefit.

"I want to talk to you," he said.

"Right." I glanced back at Sophie.

"Are you okay?" she whispered, only just loud enough for me to hear. I nodded, stepped outside, and closed the door.

"What do you want, Paul?" I had no intention of taking him to my apartment, so I led him down the corridor instead, past the lift doors and away from Arthur's place. "Why have you been following me?"

"What makes you think I followed you?"

"I got that feeling a few days ago, that I was being followed. And clearly you have today, otherwise how did you know where to find me? You were on the train, weren't you?"

"Whatever. I don't want to fight with you, Audra."

"So, don't follow me home like a creep."

"Where's your place? Can we go there, sit down, and talk properly?"

"I'm not taking you to my place. Say what you have to say and go." I glared and took a step away from him.

"There's no need to be like that." He lifted both hands, palms out. "I come in peace."

I didn't answer, just looked at him and waited. In those moments, I wondered what I'd ever seen in him, and I compared him to Arthur. He wasn't as tall as Arthur but was heavier built—muscular from working out. I knew he had tight pecs and a six-pack under the bomber jacket he was wearing. His hair was cut short in a military style, and his blue eyes had an icy look in them. They always had, even when he was being loving.

"I wanted to repay you," Paul said. "I fucked up, massively. I didn't want to admit it at the time—"

"No, you lied about everything."

"I was addicted. I went to GA meetings and sorted it out. I'm running another company, now—a care service and escorts for kids without families. Something you should approve of. It's called Wimbletons—you can look it up."

"I've heard of it." I frowned, sceptical. Wimbletons was a new company, started up last summer, and was becoming well-known for its child services. I hadn't known Paul had anything to do with it. "How did you afford to set up something like that?"

"Uncle died. I have no cousins, as you know, and my parents are dead, so I got the lion's share."

"I'm surprised you managed to keep out of the casinos," I said bitterly.

"I told you, I got help. I haven't so much as played a game of cards in a year and a half. I got myself together when I lost you."

"You didn't seem to care too much about that at the time."

"I was on the defensive. When I calmed down, I realised what I'd done."

"So, why are you here now?" I asked.

"I told you. To pay you back. Look, can't we go for a coffee or something? If you won't take me to your place—"

I glanced past him at a slight sound, and saw Arthur watching from outside the lift doors, his face pale and sad. He dropped his gaze and shoved his hands into his pockets. Paul turned his head to look.

"Who the hell is that?"

"That's Arthur."

"Looks like a freak to me. I guess you get some real weirdos in a place like this."

"Go to hell, Paul!" I snapped, just as Arthur burst into loud shrieks of laughter and covered his mouth with both hands.

Paul shook his head and snorted.

"Arthur." I hurried to him and put my hands on his waist. "It's okay."

"Jesus fucking Christ. Now I've seen it all. Is that the best you can do?" Paul chuckled. "I didn't think you'd stay single for nearly two years, but that?"

Arthur pulled free of me and lurched, laughing hysterically, to his door.

"He should be in Arkham," Paul added.

I spun around, momentarily forgetting Arthur in my anger. "You know nothing about him, or me. Just go away and leave us alone."

"Not until we sort things out."

I ignored him, took Arthur's key from his shaking hand, and opened the door. I didn't look back at Paul, but ushered Arthur inside, closed the door, and put the chain on. Arthur laughed and gasped for another minute before he got control of himself.

"Who—who is he?"

"My ex. The one I told you about."

Arthur's eyes widened. "Does he want you back?"

"No. He didn't mention that. Apparently, he's come into some money and he wanted to pay me back for when he was an arsehole and lost all our savings and our home."

"He, um, he's, um—" Arthur barked with laughter again. "He's very good-looking. He has nice clothes. He's got so much more than me."

"He's a dickhead." I grasped Arthur's hand and tugged him down on the couch beside me. "Don't even think along the lines you're thinking. If he got on his knees and begged, I would never go back to him. I wouldn't even go for a coffee, as you probably heard him ask. I feel nothing for him. For a while, I hated him after everything he did. Now, he's just nothing. Don't worry about that."

Arthur nodded. "You loved him once, though."

"I thought I did."

"If you take the money, you could leave this shithole. You wouldn't have to worry anymore. You could forget about everything here, and me." He sunk his head into his hands.

"Stop it, Arthur. Don't you know by now, particularly after this last week, how much I love you? I'm going nowhere. Well, admittedly it would be nice to move somewhere better than this crappy apartment block, but whatever I do, you'll be with me, okay? I'm yours, Arthur. I'm not leaving you."

"But he has so much more than me," he repeated.

"I wouldn't care if he was the fucking prince of Gotham," I growled suddenly. "If he was the last man on earth, I wouldn't want him. I'd rather be lonely."

Arthur jerked his head up, eyes wide. "You said 'fuck.'"

I snorted. "Well, I'm not much of a lady when I have to deal with jerks like that. Seriously, do not worry about Paul. If I talk to him again, it won't mean anything other than me thinking about taking his money. Financially, I'm where I am because of him and if I can get out of the hole, great. Other than that, I won't give him the time of day. He means nothing to me. I love you."

Arthur nodded slowly. "I'm sorry for doubting. I thought maybe he would try to win you back."

"If he does, he's in for a disappointment. All he can offer me that I might be interested in, is the contents of his wallet, and even that wouldn't work if it wasn't for the fact that he lost over five grand of my money. It was a joint bank account, but almost half was mine."

"Five grand!" Arthur gasped. "I can't even imagine having that much money at once."

"Well, if I get even half of it, I can look at a nicer apartment. I wasn't going to mention this yet, but I was thinking this week, with you spending the nights at my place, and how happy I am with you, maybe someday we could have an apartment together. Somewhere a little way outside Gotham, maybe."

"You'd want to live with me? Even with all my problems?"

"They're not problems to me, Arthur. They're just part of you. Everyone has something they have to cope with. If I get money from him, I will have a deposit and bond for a better place. Although the rent would be more than here, we could afford it between us. Just think about it, okay?"

"I don't need to think about it." Arthur smiled and his eyes sparkled. "If you really think you can put up with me in your space, I would love to live with you."

"It would be _our_ space. And don't forget you would have to put up with me, too."

"I don't think that would be very difficult." He laughed softly.

"I'll go outside and see if he's still there." I squeezed his hand and got up.

"Shall I come with you?"

"No. Leave this to me." Arthur's presence would only prompt Paul to be more of an arsehole, I realised. I let myself out again, and much to my annoyance, spotted Paul standing at Sophie's open door, talking to her. She was even smiling at him.

"Hey." I walked over.

"You want to talk, now?"

"Yes. Let's go for a walk." I still had no intention of taking him to my place.

Paul said goodbye to Sophie and followed me into the lift, which miraculously, was waiting. As it clunked its way downwards, Paul gazed around at the dirty walls covered in graffiti.

"I know it's a shithole," I said. "What do you expect, when I hadn't even any money for a deposit on a place, and had to fall on the city services?"

"I'm sorry." He shook his head. "I lived in Waller Street for a year."

Waller Street, I knew, was in an even worse area than my place.

"I was serious when I said I wanted to make amends," he added.

"Well, insulting my boyfriend isn't going to make me want to listen to you."

"You're really with him?" His brow wrinkled, but he straightened his face quickly. "Sorry."

"He's a sweet man. He would never do anything to hurt me, and I'm happy. That's all you need to know."

"Fair enough." Paul stepped aside as the lift doors opened, to let me out first. I led him out of the building and along the street. "So, my uncle left me a lot of money. Like, enough to buy a house. A proper house, not just an apartment. I wanted to make amends. I know I fucked up with you; not just with the money, and I'm not trying to get you back. I'm seeing someone, actually. It's early days, but I'm telling you, so you don't think I have an agenda. Having to live like a rat and go to GA meetings made me think about the kind of person I was, and what I'd done. It wasn't just you either. I borrowed money from friends and colleagues and lost it. I lost them, in the end. I ended up alone. My fault."

"That sucks," I said, unable to bring myself to say I was sorry, which I wasn't. He'd got what he deserved.

"Yeah. At the GA meetings, we had to talk about how we'd hurt people. One of the main steps is making amends with those people. I was lucky in coming into money. Other people in the group didn't have that, and they just have to contact their family members, friends, whatever, and apologise. At least I can apologise with a chunk of money. You will take it, right? I'm not asking you to forgive me, because I doubt you will. My friends haven't. But at least take what I'm offering. It will help you and it will make me feel better about things."

I stopped walking and turned to face him. "There's really nothing else in it? You just want to say sorry for what happened, and give me some money?"

"Swear to God."

"How much are we talking?"

Paul grinned. "Now I can see the dollar signs in your eyes."

"Shut up." I smiled, despite my determination to stay annoyed. I couldn't help the smile, when I thought about the possibility of moving to a nicer place and sharing it with Arthur.

"Ten thousand."

I gasped. "But that's way more than—!"

"Call it a payment towards pain and suffering, as well as what I took from you. You must have done it tough, finding a new job and trying to find a place to live with no money. The city services are stretched to capacity. I've been there, too, so I know how shit it is. And I know you didn't have anyone else to call on for help."

"No, I didn't." I started walking again, hands in my pockets. If I took the ten thousand, I could rent a new place and keep it for a year without having to contribute from my wages, enabling me to build up savings. With Arthur's money coming in, too, we'd be set up for the foreseeable future. We wouldn't have to struggle anymore. It was way more than I was owed, but still—there had been plenty of pain and suffering, when I feared I'd be on the streets; when I had to spend a week sleeping on a friend's couch, praying welfare would find me a place; praying that one of the twenty-seven jobs I'd applied for would say yes.

Again, I stopped walking, and faced him. "There's really no catch?"

"None." He shook his head. "You never have to see me again. Get a new place with your, um, Arthur? Whatever you want. Forget about me."

"Okay. I accept." I offered him my hand to shake, hoping I wasn't letting myself in for problems later. "Thank you, for coming to find me."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

I hurried back to the apartments and knocked on Arthur's door. Clearly, he was waiting on the other side of it, as he flung it open almost before I'd finished knocking.

"Are you all right?" he demanded. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No, nothing like that." I smiled and closed the door behind me.

"He doesn't want you back?"

"No. He's seeing someone. Besides, it wouldn't matter if he did want me back. I told you, I only want you."

Arthur nodded. "But I always think you'll find someone better. Someone better looking, without all my problems."

"I won't." I slid my hand into his as we sat down on his sofa. "He's going to give me enough money to get a nice place. Ten thousand."

"Ten?" Arthur's eyes widened. "I thought you said he lost five thousand of your money."

"Yeah, well he wants to give me extra for 'pain and suffering,' he said. For all the stress he put me under, and everything I lost other than money. He doesn't expect anything in return. He's been going to Gamblers Anonymous, and one of the things he has to do is try to make amends with everyone he's hurt."

"Do you think you can trust him? You said he was a liar."

"Well, we'll see. Either he'll send me the money, or he won't."

"What if he wants something in return? Even though he said he doesn't."

"It'll be his hard luck. He won't get anything from me."

I didn't hear anything from Paul for the next week, and I convinced myself he was full of shit as usual. I cursed myself for believing he might have turned over a new leaf and tried to swallow my disappointment over it. I'd tried to tell myself it wouldn't happen, but I hadn't been able to stop myself looking in the windows of a property rental company every time I passed, checking out the nice apartments on the other side of the city. There were several new blocks surrounding a park and they looked perfect. But I was daydreaming. I would probably never get to live in one of them.

I didn't voice my annoyance to Arthur. He'd had a bad couple of days where his depression kicked him in the arse. He spent a whole day in bed, and the day after, he could barely manage to speak to me, although he somehow forced himself to do two gigs at the children's hospital.

The next day, he came to the shelter to meet me after I finished work and he looked much better. He sat at a table in the corner and waited for me to finish booking in four people wanting beds for the night.

"Audra, sorry, I forgot to give you this," Toby said suddenly, dropping an envelope on the desk beside me. "A man dropped it off earlier. I think you went to the bathroom or something. I was busy, so I put it in my pocket and forgot."

"No problem, thanks." I picked up the envelope, then grabbed my coat and bag. "I'm off now. See you tomorrow." I opened the envelope as I went to where Arthur was sitting. My name was written on the front, and I recognised Paul's scrawly handwriting.

"What's that?" Arthur asked.

"It's from Paul." I looked inside and found only one thing there—a cheque. I peered in without taking it out of the envelope to draw the attention of my colleagues and the line of people waiting to book a bed. "It's what he promised." I bit my lip to stop the smile that threatened to split my face in two. "I'd started to think he wasn't going to bother. Let's get out of here."

I put the envelope in my bag and clutched the bag tight against me as we left the shelter. Arthur placed his arm around my shoulders as we walked.

"It's really what he told you?" Arthur lowered his head and whispered in my ear. "Ten thousand?"

"Yes." I giggled a little, finally able to let myself be excited. "I kept walking past a property office this week and trying not to look at the lovely new apartments they're advertising, because I didn't think he was going to send it. Now we can look. We can choose together."

"Are you sure you want me to help you choose? It's going to be your place." Arthur sighed, and his mouth turned down at the corners.

"Hey. It's going to be our place, remember? We talked about it. It's sooner than I expected, but why wait? Unless you don't want to. It'd be a big change."

"I want to. But I thought maybe, um, I don't know. People say things and don't mean them. I wasn't sure—"

I stopped walking and faced him. "Arthur, I'm not 'people.' I'm your Audra. I love you. I wouldn't move somewhere else without you. Whatever I say to you, I mean it. If you want to share a new home with me, then I want us to choose it together. It's definitely what I want."

"Even with all my problems?"

"Even then." I didn't remind him we'd already had this conversation. He'd convinced himself I hadn't meant it, or it had happened differently. "I'm not working the day after tomorrow. How about we look then, if you don't have too many jobs?"

"All right." He smiled a little but didn't look overly enthusiastic. I wondered if he had doubts about leaving the home he'd had for years, even though it was crappy, or if he had doubts about sharing his life with me. Perhaps we needed to talk about it some more before we got carried away.

The following evening, after we ate dinner together in my apartment, and were snuggled up in my bed, I brought it up again. My head rested on Arthur's shoulder, and I was lightly stroking his chest with my fingertips. He had his eyes closed, every so often sighing with pleasure.

"Arthur, are you sure you want to look at new places with me?"

His eyes flew open. "Yes! Have you changed your mind? You don't want me to?"

"No, I haven't changed my mind. You seemed unsure about it yesterday. I want to make sure it's what you want. You've lived here a long time and—"

"Not by choice." He chuckled. "It's a shit hole. Sorry."

I laughed. "And you're okay with the idea of us living together?"

"Aren't we almost doing that anyway? My stuff's still in my place, but I'm here nearly every night."

"That's true. I just don't want you to feel like you're being pushed into this. That you're sure it's what you want."

"I'm sure. I still find it hard to believe you want to live with me, but every time I doubt it, you show me you mean it. I'm starting to get the message." He grinned, then sighed. "Things are okay with me at the moment, but you know I'll still have bad days. I'm always going to have bad days. You might regret me being there, in your new place."

"I know there will be bad days. I know you'll feel bad sometimes and not want to talk or do things, and that's okay. But I won't regret having you with me."

"And we can really afford one of those new apartments?"

"Sure. I can pay for six months up front from that cheque. With our wages pooled together, we'll be able to afford it and be better off than we are now. The train journey into the city will be shorter from the other side, too."

"Then let's go and look at one." Arthur turned onto his side to face me and tugged me harder against him. "I can't wait."

In the morning, we ate breakfast together before Arthur went back to his apartment to take a bath and change into fresh clothes. An hour later, we travelled into the city and went to the property office. We stood outside, gazing at the pictures of the new apartments and imagining ourselves living in one, before we went inside and found that the agent was about to take the sign down. All of the apartments had been taken.

Arthur's face fell, and I imagined mine did, too. "Have you anything similar?" I asked. "Same sort of area?"

"Actually—" The agent, who had introduced herself as Emily, picked up a brochure and invited us to sit at her desk. "We've only just received the details on this one. We haven't put it in the window yet, but we were holding off because it's not actually available straight away." She pushed the brochure across the desk for us to look at. "The current tenants have handed in their notice, but they gave plenty of warning—six weeks. The apartment is less than half a mile from the new ones. It's in a five-year-old block—Riverside. Perhaps you've heard of it?"

I shook my head. I hadn't heard of it, but the brochure depicted a pleasant-looking six-storey building overlooking the river, much closer than the new blocks. The apartment advertised was a two-bedroom one on the fourth floor, larger than the ones we'd hoped for. The price was only a hundred a month more.

"It's a gated area with excellent security," Emily went on. "If you have a car, there's parking available to one side. Utilities and service charges are all included in the rent as you would expect. The living room is furnished—" She flipped over a page of the brochure to show us a modern lounge suite, a table and chairs to seat four people, and a large cabinet on which a TV and video recorder sat. "The TV and knick-knacks you see on the windowsill, and the other personal items will be taken, but the furniture stays. The kitchen is fully fitted out." She turned another page to show the smart cream and brown kitchen, complete with oven, fridge, and even a washing machine. "Again, the kettle and toaster and the other usual items you see will be gone, but the white goods all stay. The two bedrooms will be unfurnished but carpeted and with curtains."

Arthur and I pored over the brochure, reading the details and looking at the pictures.

"When the existing tenants move out, we'll arrange a full professional clean, so the keys will be available around eight weeks from now. If you're interested, I can arrange for you to see it today," Emily went on. "We have a spare set of keys, and the existing tenants are happy for us to show it as long as the viewings are when they're out at work, so it doesn't inconvenience them."

I glanced at Arthur. "What do you think?"

"It's more expensive," he whispered.

"Only a hundred. Do you like it? I like it."

"There isn't any bedroom furniture."

Our city housing apartments were fully furnished—cheaply, but at least they had everything needed.

"I'll buy some," I whispered back. "We can choose together."

"It's not ready for eight weeks," he reminded me. "That's a good thing. You have time to change your mind." He gave me a shy grin.

"That won't happen, but it gives you more time to get to know me. To trust me." I smiled and quirked an eyebrow.

"I already do," he whispered.

"We'd like to see it," I told Emily.

She smiled. "One of my colleagues will be in that area later this morning. If you'd like to make your way to the apartment for eleven thirty, he'll let you in." She passed me a business card with the name Brian Andrews printed on it, along with a small picture of a grey-haired man. "He'll meet you outside the block. Should you like the apartment, he'll have the necessary paperwork with him. We'll require a deposit and bond equating to three months' rent. Only one month is required immediately; the rest after the current tenants leave."

"That sounds good," I said. I'd already thought of paying for six months up front, but saving the extra money would help buying furniture, and the rest could be put aside to pay rent when it was due.

Ten minutes later, Arthur and I made our way on foot towards the apartment block. It was around a mile to walk, but we dawdled, talking about what may become our new home. I couldn't help feeling excited, even though we hadn't seen it and may yet find it unsuitable.

We looked at the building from outside the gates, noting the parking area to one side, with its neat white lines painted to give spaces for a dozen cars. Flower borders and shrubs in pots surrounded this, and the building itself looked smart and new. Trees and the river were close enough for all but the ground floor apartments to have a view of them, if their windows faced that way.

Brian Andrews arrived at exactly eleven thirty, and greeted us with warm handshakes, although he paid more attention to Arthur. The man in the relationship was always in charge with some people. I swallowed my irritation and simply smiled, then bit back a laugh when Arthur told Brian he should talk to me about everything.

Brian let us into the gated area and opened the main door to the building by keying a code into a panel in the wall. Inside, we travelled up to the fourth floor in a smooth, quiet lift with doors that slid open with only a whisper.

"I'd move here just for the lift," Arthur said in a low voice.

"Me too."

There were only three apartments on each floor, and the one we were to look at was at the opposite side of the building to the parking area, meaning at least some of the windows would have the river view. Brian stood in the hallway of the apartment, allowing us to wander around the rooms.

The floors in each room were carpeted in thick-piled beige or grey, so they would go with any colour scheme. The main bedroom was blue and grey, which I could live with, while the second bedroom was very pink and fussy.

"It's so pink," I muttered.

"You're quite welcome to decorate in whatever colours you choose," Brian called out. "Tenants are expected to keep the place fresh and smart, so you can paint or wallpaper as you see fit, if you decide to take the apartment."

"Green is nice," Arthur said.

"It is." I headed into the kitchen. It was bright turquoise, which the photos had toned down somewhat. "Yellow in here, would be better." I peered out of the window and spotted a glint of water to the left. "Let's look in the living room. We should have a full view of the river from there."

I was right. The trees scattered along the riverbank were bare and brown at the moment, but in a few weeks' time, when the apartment was available, the water would sparkle from between green branches and bushes.

"It's beautiful." Arthur voiced my thoughts. "Even with the trees all wintery."

"It's perfect. The furniture's nice, too." I sat carefully on the middle cushion of the couch. "So comfy."

Arthur sat beside me. "I like it," he said. "Very much. But it must be your choice. You're, um, you're paying the deposit."

"Still, I wouldn't take it if you didn't like it," I told him. "Is there anything you don't like?"

"No." He shook his head vigorously. "It's much nicer than the old place, and you'll be in it. That's all that's important to me."

"Then we'll take it." I stood again and went to find Brian. "We'd like to take the apartment," I told him. "Can we see the paperwork, please?"


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

With the paperwork for the new apartment signed and a cheque handed over for the initial deposit, our new home was arranged. Arthur and I went for a walk by the river, hand in hand, and bought snacks from a food stand on the edge of a small park. It was such a nice area of the city—worlds away from where we lived now.

I expected the eight weeks until we could get the keys for the new place to drag. It seemed a long way off, and Arthur and I carried on with our lives and our usual routine of spending our evenings together. More often than not, we spent the nights together, too, snuggling in each other's arms in either my bed or his.

I didn't hear anything more from Paul, and it seemed he was being true to his word. He did his best to make amends and went back to his own life. I didn't use any of the money, except to pay for a bed Arthur and I chose together. I arranged for it to be delivered to our new home once we had a confirmed date for being given the keys. A week before we were due to move, I paid the rest of the deposit and we booked a moving company to collect our stuff from both of our apartments and take it all to the new place. We spent hours packing everything we wanted and getting rid of the things we didn't. We had both accumulated a lot of items we didn't want to keep.

Sophie thought I was crazy to be moving in with Arthur. She wished us well and told me she wanted me to be happy, and that she'd visit when we were settled in, but she didn't hide her worries too well. I knew she feared I would regret starting my life with Arthur, simply because she still thought he was a creep and didn't understand him.

Eventually, the moving day arrived. Two burly guys arrived at my door early in the morning, and filled the lift with boxes from my apartment, then from Arthur's. Everything fit in the large truck they had, including Arthur and me in the extra seats behind the driver's seat.

The journey across the city took about half an hour. Arthur's anxiety grew as we left our old homes behind. His knees bounced, he scrubbed at his face, and dragged his fingers through his hair. I took one of his hands and held it in both of mine.

"It's okay, Arthur. We'll soon be there," I said softly.

He nodded and stared out of the window. He didn't laugh, but he didn't relax either. The moment the truck stopped, he jumped out and began pacing around outside the gates of our new complex.

"What's with him?" one of the moving guys asked.

"Nothing, he's fine." I climbed out too, and keyed in the code on the panel beside the gates so they would open. The truck drove in, and we followed on foot. "Are you okay?" I asked.

"I will be." He ran a hand through his hair again.

I gave him one of the keys to our new home. "Why don't you go on up? I'll sort everything out."

"I can't let you do that," he protested.

"You can. I don't like you being upset. It's not as if I have to actually do anything, except tell them where to put stuff. If you sit in the bedroom, you won't even see them again. All the boxes and other bits will be going in the other rooms. We can put it all away later when they've gone."

"All right." He gave me a quick kiss. "Thank you, Audra." He disappeared into the building.

It didn't take the men too long to get everything unloaded and taken up in the lift. As soon as the boxes were all piled in the living room, they left. Arthur relaxed and started lugging items into the appropriate rooms. Considering how thin he was, he was surprisingly strong.

I began unpacking—hanging our clothes in the wardrobes, putting cutlery and crockery away in the kitchen, and arranging the few trinkets we had between us. Arthur found the picture-hanging kit I'd bought and began hammering in nails for the pictures. Anything we couldn't find a place for immediately, went into the pink bedroom to be dealt with later.

By the time we finished, we were exhausted, and I was starving. Arthur went out to collect Chinese food from a nearby restaurant, and we sat on our new-to-us sofa with plates on our laps, eating and watching TV. Arthur ate more than I'd seen him eat at one time in a while.

Later, we went to bed together for the first time in our new home. When we woke in each other's arms, I wished I'd arranged a few days off work. It would have been nice to spend more time settling in and being together. Arthur had to work too, and we travelled into the city together, our train journey now a little shorter than it had been from the other direction.

Arthur finished earlier than me after a gig at the children's hospital, and the last couple of hours of my workday dragged. I couldn't wait to get home to him. When I finally left the shelter, I hurried to the station, then sat impatiently fidgeting on the train until it pulled into the station closest to where we lived. I almost ran the rest of the way, my heart pounding with excitement. It was silly, almost as if it was a first date again, but somehow having our own home together, and getting back that first day, thrilled me.

When I got out of the lift, Arthur was waiting in the doorway of the apartment, a big smile on his face. I ran into his arms.

"It's been such a long day. I couldn't wait to see you." I tilted my head back to kiss him.

"I have a surprise for you." He pulled me inside and closed the door. "Will you go and wait in the bedroom, please?"

"Okay." Intrigued, I went into the bedroom and closed the door. I changed out of my work clothes and put on a light-yellow dress. I'd never had many dresses, but Arthur liked the few I had, and I'd added more to my wardrobe in the past couple of months.

I waited what seemed an interminable amount of time, while I listened to sounds coming from the kitchen that indicated he was making dinner.

Eventually, he opened the door. "You can come out now. I'm sorry I was so long."

I followed him into the living room, where our little table was set, with two plates of what looked like a chicken stew with rice, glasses of white wine, and a vase of red roses.

"I w-wanted to do something special." The slight stammer revealed his nervousness, and I slid my arms around him.

"It looks wonderful, Arthur. Thank you."

"I hope it's okay. I got a recipe book and made the meal. I've never cooked anything properly before." He ran a hand through his hair and laughed a little.

"I'm sure it'll be delicious. It smells good." I gave him a kiss and sat down at the table. "Wine, too. What a lovely surprise. And a romantic one." I touched one of the blooms in the vase.

Arthur flushed and laughed some more. He didn't look happy, only anxious. His laughter continued, and he put a hand over his mouth. "S-sorry."

"It's okay. Come and sit down."

When he joined me at the table, I took his hand and sipped my wine. "What's wrong, Arthur? You seem so nervous. This is all wonderful. Are you worried I won't like the food?" I speared a piece of chicken and put it in my mouth. Flavours exploded on my tongue—tomatoes and herbs, a spike of pepper, garlic. "It's mouth-watering. If this is your first try at cooking from a recipe book, you should definitely do it more often. Relax. Let's eat."

He picked at his food and drank his wine quickly. His knees bounced under the table, and his hands shook. I knew something was bothering him, but I couldn't figure it out. He had episodes of being very down—that was always going to happen—and sometimes the slightest thing would upset him, and he'd laugh hysterically. But tonight, he'd gone to all this trouble to make a romantic dinner for me, and he wasn't enjoying it. He looked ready to either burst out laughing again, or cry.

Suddenly, he put his knife and fork down and clenched his fists. "I can't do this anymore!" he blurted.

My heart plummeted, and I put my cutlery down, too. I struggled to swallow the food in my mouth and washed it down quickly with wine. "What? What do you mean?" A knot formed in my stomach as I waited for him to explain. Instead, he burst into hysterical laughter.

"Arthur?" I stared at him, terrified.

"I'm s-sorry," he said again. "I mean, I can't, I can't sit here and eat when I'm so n-nervous. Oh, God, Audra. I'm sorry." He reached across the table and grasped both of my hands. "I didn't mean it to sound like I don't want to be here with you. I love you so much. I'm just scared you'll say no."

"Say no?" I knew I was missing something important.

"Sorry. I'm doing this all wrong. You see? I'm useless. Why would you…?" He pulled his hands free and ran them through his hair. Then suddenly, he leapt out of his seat and threw himself to his knees on the floor. I stared, gradually catching on as he righted himself onto one knee and pulled a small box out of his pocket. By the time he turned his scarlet face up to look at me, the smile on my face was enormous. "Audra, will you marry me?" He spat out the words quickly as if to get it over with before he lost his nerve completely.

"Yes," I answered immediately. Any delay would only make things worse for him. "I'd love to marry you, Arthur. I love you."

"Oh! Good. I thought—" He coughed. "Never mind." He fumbled open the box and offered me a ring—a narrow gold band set with a small diamond. "It's not much. I don't have much money. I saved up and I got the best I could. I hope you like it. Sorry." He flushed more than ever and took the ring out of the box with trembling fingers.

"It's perfect, Arthur. It's beautiful." I held out my hand so he could slip it onto my finger. "It's the perfect size, too. Thank you." I cupped his face in my hands and bent to press my lips to his. "I'm sorry you were so worried. You had no reason to be. Don't you know how much I love you?"

"I do, I've just never done this before." He chuckled and returned to his chair. "I was rehearsing it before you got home. It went much better when you weren't here. I was so anxious, I forgot what I wanted to say."

"You said all that was needed. I can't wait to marry you, Arthur."

"Me too." He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my finger.

"Let's finish this lovely dinner."

"I'm glad you like it. I'll make a special meal for you every week from now on. That recipe book I bought says it has a hundred meals in it to choose from."

"We'll have to work our way through it."

We finished the dinner and the wine, then Arthur went to wash the dishes and refused to let me lift one finger to help. I sat on the couch waiting for him, smiling and hugging myself. Who would have thought the person who had once followed me and whom I'd thought was a creep, would turn out to be the man I'd dreamed of meeting one day, and assumed I never would?

I wondered what our wedding day would be like. Neither of us had anyone worth inviting, other than Sophie and maybe a couple of my co-workers. A quiet affair with something like a picnic afterwards might be nice. Arthur would certainly like that—he wouldn't want a lot of fuss and drama and attention. I imagined myself as Mrs Audra Fleck, and my smile grew wider.

Arthur appeared and flopped onto the couch beside me. "What are you thinking about?"

"What do you think I'm thinking about?" I leaned closer and kissed him. "I was thinking about how happy I am."

"I am, too." He slid his arms around me and hugged me tight. "I've never been this happy. I still have bad days and that's not going to change. But you make me smile and it's real. I'm not just putting on a happy face. I love you."

"I love you, too." I pressed myself against him. He was everything I'd always wanted, and this was the first day of the rest of our lives.


End file.
